The Flashbacks
by atypicalhumanbeing
Summary: Sherlock wakes up to find he can't remember the previous six weeks of his life, where he and John were abducted. To his horror, he discovers John is still missing, and nobody knows where he is. Can Sherlock use small flashbacks to put the pieces together and find John? DISCLAIMER: These characters aren't of my own creation. Regular updates until complete.
1. What happened?

Chapter 1: What happened?

I can vaguely hear talking. It's between two people. One I have never heard before and one I feel I should know. For some reason, my mind can't process it properly. My eyes are still shut, so I lie in a dark daze. Wherever I am is soft and warm, safe. Slowly, though, I open my eyes, allowing bright white light to flood my pupils. The light is blinding and my eyes are taking longer than usual to adjust to it.

Suddenly, there is a clatter of footsteps coming towards me. I just make out the familiar voice saying "Oh! Thank God! Sherlock!". My eyes slowly begin to focus and I turn my gaze towards the man, finally realising who it is: DI Lestrade. " We were wondering if you would ever wake up after we found-" he stops abruptly, closing his mouth and glancing away momentarily. I still can't really process what he says, although I feel it may be important to me for some unknown reason.

Then, I scan the room with my eyes, realising immediately that I'm in a private hospital room. The walls are white-washed, bringing me back to my long, dull days in rehab. Out of the corner of my eye, I can just make out a window, but I don't move to see out of it, instead, I stay stock still. My attention is quickly brought back to Lestrade when he speaks again.

"Sherlock? Can you hear me?" He asks.

Of course I can, I think to myself. Somehow, I can't seem to make a reply. I swallow and open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

"Sherlock, say something." Lestrade almost begs.

Again, I try, but no words come.

"Give him time." The other man says. I turn my gaze to him. He's clearly a doctor because he wears a (stereotypical) white coat and a stethoscope around his neck. The doctor has short brown hair and deep creases in his forehead. The man isn't particularly tall, but is in good shape. He walks over to the end of my bed, gets a out a clipboard and scribbles something down onto it. Once finished, he looks at me again and asks "Thirsty?"

I suddenly notice the dryness of my mouth and throat. Every swallow feels like sandpaper. Why am I so thirsty? I try to speak once more but only a croak escapes my lips. Giving up on talking, I decide to nod instead. Big mistake. It sends a spark of pain down my spine and my head swims. I wince, causing concern to brush over Lestrade and the doctor's faces before they hide it quickly.

Seemingly ignoring my obvious pain, Lestrade reaches for a jug of water and fills a cup. Instead of handing it to me, he presses the plastic rim to my lips and gently tips it, allowing the cooling liquid to flow soothingly into my mouth. When I swallow, I can feel as the water rushes down my throat. The sandpaper feeling is gone, mostly.

Within seconds, the cup is empty. Lestrade reaches for the jug again but is stopped by the doctor, who mumbles a little too loudly "No more, it'll be too much of a shock to his system.", which further deepens my confusion. Why have I been starved of water? The inspector nods and places the cup down on a small table to the right of my bed, before turning his attention back to me.

"Better?" He asks, before remembering I am unable to reply.

With perfect timing, the door to my room swings open and Mycroft swans in, umbrella in hand. He immediately looks over to me. For a millisecond, his eyes seem to light up as he sees mine are open, but he regains his mask almost immediately and says

"Ah, awake at last, brother dear? You've been through quite a lot."

I stare at him, genuinely baffled. What did he mean? What had I 'been through'? Out of the corner of my eye, I see the doctor shooting my elder brother an accusatory look.

Before I can find answers to these questions, I notice something: John isn't here. If anything has happened, I know John would be right there beside me, so where is he? Desperate for an explanation, I clear my throat and cough out his name, my voice weak and rasping. All three men turn to me.

"Sorry?" Mycroft asks, clearly, they didn't make out what I said, so I try again. I have a little more success this time. "John?"

All three men shoot one another a look that I can't quite read, before they turn back to me.

"What about him?" Mycroft questions.

"Where?" Is all I can say in reply.

"He's...otherwise engaged." Mycroft says, with a pointed look on his face.

Then, another question hits me, and I struggle to cough it out, each word a little less painful than the last.

"Why... Am I...here?" I finally manage.

Another glance is exchanged between the men.

"Sherlock" Mycroft begins, picking his words with extreme caution "what do you last remember?" The doctor gives a slight nod in Mycroft's direction.

I think for a few seconds. I remember pulling on my coat and scarf and leaving 221B in a hurry, although I cannot recall when or why. I remember someone calling my name, and then darkness. Nothing.

"I remember leaving baker street, with John, and hearing my name being called. That's it." I say, my voice sore, but fairly steady now.

Another exchanged look, with Mycroft raising his eyebrows at the other two.

"That's it?" He asks, staring me dead in the eye. "Where exactly does it stop?"

A little confused, and noticing my head beginning to throb, I reply "Our names were called..." I rack my brain, suddenly hearing a stifled cry from inside my head that sounds like John's "... John tried to say something but was stopped... And then just blackness." I finish, looking at Mycroft with a questioning expression.

"How long ago do you think that was?" Ha asks, genuine concern on his face.

I think for a moment, unsure, before half answering, half asking "Several days...maybe a week...?"

I watch Mycroft's face closely. He simply nods slowly before the doctor says

"Probably ought to stop there. Can you feel any pain, Sherlock? Be honest, its important."

I try to lift my head, but cry out as shock-waves race across my body. Blood rushes through my skull, causing my brain to throb even more. Lestrade is forced to turn away, but Mycroft just stares at me, the slight pity in his eyes disgusts me. I try to lift my right hand instead but it feels like a dead weight, and pain creases across my face. All the dexterity from my fingers seems to be gone; my arm is still and aching.

Before I can try anything else, the doctor cries "Stop! Don't move, Sherlock. Stay exactly as you are." To be honest, I don't have much choice. Whatever had happened to me, it must have been bad, so why couldn't I remember a thing? And why wasn't John here to explain it all? Why was everyone being so mysterious, with side-glances and almost silent murmurs?

Instead, I answer the doctor's question the easy way, although what I say is already obvious. "My head throbs, and it pains me to move anything."

With that, the doctor comes around to the left-hand side of my bed and presses a few buttons on a screen. Only then do I notice several IV lines in my left arm, connected to the machine.

They're drugging me up, I think. Quickly, I ask "When will John visit?", but nobody seems to hear, or if they do, they ignore me completely. Mycroft and Lestrade have their eyes dropped, unable to catch my gaze. There's definitely something they're not telling me, maybe more than one thing.

I feel the liquid flow into me, probably morphine. "Just relax, close your eyes." The doctor says gently. I hardly need persuasion, my eyelids drop almost immediately and the drug swallows me back into a world of darkness and confusion. The only respite is feeling the throbbing in my head cease. I am empty. I am numb.

* * *

**Thanks for reading and please review :) The next chapter is already written and will be up tomorrow.**


	2. Blackout

Chapter 2: Black out

When I wake, there are no voices. No secretive whispers. No exchanging glances. No raised eyebrows. Only the same white-washed walls of the hospital room. A sharp smell of disinfectant penetrates my nose.

My brain is slow and foggy. The morphine brought relief, but also frustration. I need maximum brain power to figure out this mess, whatever it is.

After a few minutes, my thoughts begin to move a little faster, a string of ideas, rather than random patches. My senses are also becoming keener again. I can hear the squeak of feet moving through the pristine corridor, coming towards the door to my room.

Suddenly, it flies open and a nurse comes in, wheeling some kind of large plastic 'thing' behind her. My brain still isn't working properly. The nurse carefully closes the door behind her and turns to me.

"Hello, Sherlock, how are you today?" She asks cheerily, a little too so. I don't bother to reply. What's the point anyway?

She walks over to my bed and kneels down at eye-level with me. "Now, I need to give you a wash, to make sure all your...injuries stay clean. You probably haven't experienced it before, but don't worry, I'm used to it." She gently explains.

I fill with dread as I realise what this means. I don't want to be washed. One of her words sticks in my mind: 'injuries'. What did she mean? I didn't remember being injured... Is that why I'm here? I got hurt by something? Maybe.

Without waiting for my consent, she gets up and pulls the bedclothes gently back from me. I am wearing a hospital outfit.

"We'll start with your face" The nurse says gently "Stay as still as you can, it may sting a bit, but you must be used to pain by now." She takes in a sharp breath. Even in my half-drugged state, I know she wasn't meant to say that.

Moving on quickly, the nurse dips a piece of cloth into some water on the tray she wheeled in, before lightly pressing it to my right cheek. The cloth is soft but I take in air sharply as I feel the sting.

"Sorry, its alright." The nurse coos, carefully rubbing the cloth over my cheek before moving to my forehead.

Just before she moves on to my neck, she pauses and says "You've got more cuts here, so it might sting a bit more than your face did." Her eyes are apologetic but not pitiful.

I am baffled. Why are there cuts on my face, and more on my neck? It would have to be a very strange accident for me to have cut my neck. Just as the nurse is about to place the newly-moistened cloth onto the skin of my neck, I stop her by asking "Why are there cuts on my neck?"

She looks away from me for a second, her forehead creases as if she is battling with herself. After an age, she looks me straight in the eye and says "I can't tell you, yet. I'm sorry. I wish I could..."

With that, the nurse places the cloth onto my neck with the utmost delicacy. Despite this, I have to clench my jaw to keep from wincing. The cuts to my neck must be deep and extensive to justify this much pain, even with morphine still flowing through my veins.

After a few minutes, the nurse stops and waits for me to look up at her again before speaking "You're doing well. Now, though, I need to do your chest. I'm not going to lie to you. This will hurt. It'll hurt a lot. But I have to wash you, so you'll have to endure the pain."

My jaw tightens again as she peels back my hospital shirt, revealing my bare chest. I try to lift my head to get a glimpse at the damage done to my body, but the nurse quickly blocks my views and gently pushes my head back onto the pillow. "Sorry" she explains "I'm under strict orders to let you see as little as possible."

"Why?" I ask, baffled yet again.

The nurse says nothing, simply pursing her lips and beginning. This time, I am unable to keep my pain inside, I let out a small whimper. The nurse continues to gently rub my chest with the cloth, going in small and careful circles. I grip the side of the bed with my right fist, but this only causes me more pain. I cry out in agony, and the nurse pauses. Releasing my grip from the bed rail hurts just as much, but I have to do it.

The nurse shakes her head sadly, before turning to get a new cloth. She tries to hide the old one from me, but I can see the blood stains on it, my blood.

After finishing my chest, I am informed by the nurse that the most painful part is coming next. She tells me that I need to turn onto my front. Due to the fact that I cannot even nod, I know this will be complete agony for me. At first, I try to turn on my own, but the tiniest movement causes me to cry out.

Eventually, the nurse leaves and returns several minutes later with three strong-looking doctors.

One of them looks me in the eye and bluntly says "We're going to flip you over as you can't do it yourself. It will likely hurt but please try not to upset the other patients with bloodcurdling cries."

Before I can properly process what has been said, hands are firmly on my body and I am flipped onto my front. The pain is excruciating. I scream and then go limp as darkness consumes me.

_Then, I am lying on a table in a dim, musky room. The table is coated it sandpaper, rubbing my stomach raw with every movement. An unknown voice behind me says "Are you ready Sherlock?" I make no reply. I cry out as a whip is flung across my bare back, tearing at my skin. "No!" I hear a weak cry of John from somewhere behind me. "Shut up, or it'll be you next." Snarls my tormentor, before I feel metal slice into my exposed skin._

"Hold him still!" "What's going on?" "Where's Mycroft?"

These are the alarmed and desperate cries I awaken to. I can feel hands restraining my limbs and torso. I look up to see the nurse looking down at me, a mix of horror, disgust and fear on her face.

"Its alright" she says as soothingly as she can between shaking breaths "Just stay still."

"What happened?" I ask, beginning to shake.

"You...you blacked out, when we flipped you over. Then, you started thrashing and screaming. We had to hold you down." The nurse answers cautiously, as if missing out certain details from her story.

She turns to look at the strong men who still have a tight grip on my uncontrollably quivering body. "I think you can let go now." The nurse says. Their tight grip suddenly loosens, leaving me alone on the bed, lying face-down on the ruffled sheets.

Before anyone can utter another word, I hear two sets of feet pounding down the corridor. They burst into the room, by the urgency, I know immediately that it's Mycroft and Lestrade.

Lestrade runs round the bed until he's in my line of sight. He kneels down next to me and looks into my eyes. I look into his, still unable to stop myself from shaking. Mycroft joins him and reads my face immediately.

"What did you see?" He asks, staring intently into my eyes.

"I... I saw..." I begin to stutter.

"Go on." Mycroft prompts more gently.

"I was lying like this, on my front, but I was on a table. A table with sandpaper. There was a man, and he whipped me because I didn't answer his question. John said something and the man threatened him, before cutting into my back with a knife." At the vision of it, I screw my eyes tightly shut and begin to shake even more.

"Knock him out." I hear my brother quietly murmur, then he loses patience "KNOCK HIM OUT!" he bellows.

"Its for the best, look at him." I hear Lestrade add, before a mask is placed over my mouth and nose. The gas is strong, after only two shuddering breaths, I am dead to the world.


	3. Explanation

Chapter 3: Explanation

I have no idea how long I am out for, but when I awaken, I am lying on my back again and the room is a lot darker than it was before. At first, I think I am alone, until I hear someone shift in the chair next to my bed.

"John?" I ask hopefully.

"Mycroft." Comes the disappointing reply. "Are you ok?" He asks.

The question surprises me. When did he start caring about my welfare? Now, apparently.

"I don't know." I say, trying to convey the annoyance I feel at being told next to nothing.

If Mycroft notices my tone, he chooses to ignore it, instead, he asks another question. "When you blacked out, and had those visions, what did you think they were?"

I think back to it. The images felt like a terrible nightmare, but they seemed too vivid for that... "Not a nightmare, something more than a nightmare." I finally answer, realising it sounds both ridiculous and correct at the same time.

Mycroft clears his throat and shifts in the chair again, he's nervous.

"What?" I ask, desperately needing someone to explain everything.

"Well... Sherlock, do you truly remember nothing of what happened to you?" Mycroft replies after a pause.

I screw my eyes shut and run over my last memory, of leaving 221B, in my head. _I_ _hear the door slam shut as John pulls the knocker. I hear our racing footsteps down the street, I hear John try to say something. Then, I get something new, something I didn't remember before: I feel a bag being thrust over my head, blocking out my vision._

I gasp and open my eyes, a slight sweat on my forehead. Mycroft leans in "What is it?" He asks.

"A bag. Someone put a bag over my head." I shakily say.

Mycroft leans back, considering my reply. Slowly, he nods, then looks to the door and makes a slight gesture. At this, the door opens slowly and Lestrade cautiously enters. Why are they both so nervous? Are they going to tell me what's going on, and what happened to me?

I watch as Lestrade crosses the room and takes a seat next to Mycroft. Then, they both turn and look me in the eye. I wait for someone to speak. Mycroft finally breaks the silence.

"So, a bag was put over your head. Why might that have been?" He prompts my thoughts.

It takes me much longer than it should have to formulate any ideas. Once the words come to me, I say "So that...I wouldn't be able to see them, and where I was going...?" I look at Mycroft, watching his face for any hint of a clue. I see only his mask, perfected over many years.

"Which suggests?" He prompts again.

"Someone didn't want to me to know where I was going?" I pause, then realise I must be almost there, as neither man utters another sound. I feel like I'm a child again, where Mycroft would teach me everything he knew. He would prompt my deductions, pointing out things I had missed and congratulating me when I got the right answer. Back then, he was brotherly and caring, now, he seemed to be turning back to our childhood ways once again.

"So..." I snap back into the real world as Mycroft prompts me again.

"So, I must have been...abducted." I conclude suddenly. The word causes my stomach to drop, it fills me with fear. I had been abducted before. In fact, this must be the fourth time. Somehow, it was different this time though.

Both men nod, watching me closely, to see if I give any reaction. I don't.

"You and-" Mycroft stops himself, then quickly continues, trying to cover up what he was about to say. Still drowsy, I don't really notice his mistake. "You were abducted and held captive..."

"For how long?" I ask.

There is a pause, a look between the men, a nod, and then Lestrade answers "About 5 weeks."

5 weeks. The longest I'd ever been held captive for before was one week. How did it take 5 weeks to find and free me, and why couldn't I remember anything of my time?

Suddenly, I have another thought "That vision, it wasn't just a nightmare, was it?" I ask quickly.

"No." Is the answer Mycroft provides. With my eyes, I beg him to continue, he does "It was most probably a flashback. A glimpse into how you were treated."

A flashback. So, I wasn't just abducted, I was tortured. A sudden horror fills me "John was in that flashback. Does that mean he was..." I can't finish.

"Yes. He was with you." Mycroft answers quickly, before Lestrade can give me a different answer.

I lie silently for several minutes, eyes closed, trying to make sense of what I have been told. Still, I know there is something I'm not being told. As I become more awake, more aware, I realise it probably has something to do with John.

* * *

**Thanks for reading and to all the people who have reviewed, followed or favourited. It encourages me to keep writing. I hope you've enjoyed it so far :) Sorry that it was a shorter chapter, but it felt like a good pause there...**


	4. Another Flashback

Chapter 4: Another flashback

Mycroft and Lestrade are silent for a few minutes, allowing me to process the information. I close my eyes because their concerned stares are off-putting. When I open them again, Lestrade speaks up.

"The thing is, Sherlock, it was very hard to find you, and even harder to get you out." He is even more nervous than before. I can tell immediately that bad news is coming. I watch, I wait.

"You were unconscious when we finally got to you, it took three of us to drag you out..." He is clearly delaying the point.

I run out of patience "Oh, just tell me what it is, clearly it's important." I say irritably.

Mycroft takes over. "Sherlock, the thing is...we didn't manage to get John out." His words hang in the air between us like dust that has been unsettled and needs to land. It dances around between existence and inexistence, lost, and without guidance. Then, the reality falls on me, like a huge weight pressing into my body.

"You saved me, but you didn't save John?" I demand, I need to be sure that I understand. It seems so unbelievable to me that it doesn't feel true.

"No, we didn't." Mycroft says, not meeting my eyes.

"Then why the hell are you two sat here with me?!" I burst out, taking both men by surprise.

"Its because" Lestrade explains slowly "we need you to find him."

"How am I meant to do that? I didn't even realise I'd been abducted! I can't remember a thing. All I know is that I was taken when a bloody bag was THRUST OVER MY HEAD!" I yell at the men before me.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft says, snapping me out of my anger. I look into his eyes. He has removed his mask, his face looks guilty and pleading, like a child who knows they've done wrong, but doesn't want to be punished.

"How...can I...find him?" I ask between heaving breaths.

"Your flashbacks." My brother simply says "They're the key, they can tell us so much."

"How?" I ask, feeling the anger boiling up inside me again.

"Because we don't know where John is, but your captor has reliably informed us that he told you where he was going to move to. We need you to remember. You're John's last hope."

I can't stand it. Mycroft didn't save John. Now, he's asking me to. I know I'm in no state to rescue John. I'm his last hope, and I'm useless.

Enraged, I try to hurl myself out of the bed at my equally useless brother. The pain from the sudden movement makes me scream as I collapse onto my knees. I reach forward, clawing at Mycroft's ankle.

Suddenly, firm hands are on my shoulders, they push me back onto the ground. I am pinned, I am trapped. Lestrade is on top of me, holding me down. The pressure, the trapped feeling, the powerful hands, they feel all too familiar. I shut my eyes.

_"Don't struggle, Sherlock. Daddy's got you safe." The tormenting voice of Jim Moriarty, my arch enemy, fills my head. Despite this, I continue to move and jerk, a desperate attempt to break free. "John!" I cry. There is no reply. Moriarty fills me in instead "Don't worry, Sherlock, John's just sleeping. Want to join him?" Before I can think of a reply, something hard and cold strikes my temple, knocking me out instantly._

I awaken to the sound of my own screams. At least three people are pressing me firmly into the floor of the hospital room. I am shaking uncontrollably yet again. Mycroft clasps my face in his hands. "Sherlock, it was another flashback. Tell me what you saw." He says surprisingly calmly, given the situation.

I swallow and take in huge lungfuls of air. I continue to shake, but know I need to speak. "Moriarty. He...he was there. Someone was holding me down, like Lestrade was then." I gulp and steel myself before continuing "I called for John, but Moriarty told me he was asleep. Then, he said I could join him, and knocked me out with a metal pole, or something."

"It was triggered by Greg holding you down?" He asks.

"Yes."

"Let him go." Mycroft says sternly. Immediately, I am freed. I continue to shake. As it slowly subsides, the pain sets in again and I close my eyes, blocking out the bright hospital lights and array of concerned faces.

Slowly, I feel strong but gentle hands slide under my body and carefully lift me off the floor. I groan as pain replaces my adrenaline and anger. Knowing that moving would worsen the discomfort, I remain as still as I can. After what feels like an age, I am placed down onto the bed.

"Breathe, Sherlock." I open my eyes again and look up. Above me, the nurse who washed me yesterday is speaking calming words.

I close my eyes again and try to breathe. My breaths are deep and shuddering.

_Suddenly, I can hear deep breaths next to me. I am in the dark. Coarse ropes bind my wrists and ankles mercilessly. A steady rumble tells me that we are in a moving van. "John?" I ask. "I'm here, Sherlock. I thought you were out cold, it scared me." There is a large bang and the van comes to a halt. The back doors are swung open and light floods the van, blinding me. "Open your eyes!" Moriarty says in a cheery but menacing voice._

I do as he says, but find myself back in the hospital room. I take in a deep sigh.

"This is good, Sherlock." Mycroft says, almost comfortingly.

"Why?" I shakily ask.

"It means you're remembering. It means we'll find John."


	5. Turn the Other Cheek

**Thanks to everyone who's read this far. Just thought I ought to warm you that it gets a little graphic from this chapter onwards...**

* * *

Chapter 5: Turn the other cheek

After the two horrifying flashbacks, I sleep. When I wake up, everyone except Mycroft has gone. Mycroft sits on a plastic chair next to my bed. They're clearly not comfortable.

I notice that my body aches more than it had in previous days, but also, my brain seems to be functioning more clearly. They must have reduced the morphine.

Although I'm happy to have my brain working faster again, the pain is almost intolerable.

"Why have you reduced the morphine?" I ask, bringing my brother's attention away from the window, and back to me.

"So you can think more clearly." My brother says. He opens his mouth to speak again but then stops, seemingly changing his mind.

"What's the date?" I ask suddenly.

Mycroft thinks for a second before replying "Today is May the 25th."

"And what was the date which John and I were taken?" I ask.

"The 9th of April." My brother replies instantly. He knows it well.

I do the maths in my head. "That's just over six weeks, but you said I was missing for five." I say, knowing what this means but not wanting to say the words out loud.

"Yes, we got you out exactly 5 weeks after you were taken. You then slept for three nights and almost three whole days. And you've been here floating in and out of consciousness for a further three."

"John's been alone for almost a week?" I ask, horrified.

"Yes."

I am silent for a few minutes. Desperately trying to think of how I can save John faster. Being able to get out of bed would help, I think to myself. Then an idea hits me. Although it terrifies me and I know the implications, it could be the key to getting to John quickly.

"Mycroft?" I ask, to be sure he's still there and that I have his full attention. "Describe my injuries in as much detail as possible. It might trigger a flashback or two..." I tail off, hoping I've said enough.

"Are you sure you could cope?" My brother asks, although I can tell he thinks my plan is as good as any he may have formulated over recent days.

"I'm sure."

"The doctor understands your injuries better, so you'd get more detail if he describes them." Mycroft says slowly.

"Fine. As long as you stay." I say, surprising both myself and Mycroft with my request.

"I'll be right back." My brother says, before hastily getting up and leaving the room.

It seems like hours before he returns, although it could only have been 10 minutes at the most. He must have been briefing the doctor, and preparing backup in case I need to be held down again...

The door swings open and Mycroft leads the way. He has a clipboard in hand, ready to write down everything I say and do. The doctor follows him. He goes to the end of my bed and removes another clipboard from the holder, it must have details of all my injuries listed.

Then, they both sit down on plastic chairs to the right of my bed.

"Hello, Sherlock. How are you today?" The doctor asks. Clearly, he was hoping to sound cheery, but his words come out rather dryly.

"Fine." I say in return, eager to get on.

"Good. That's good." He says thoughtfully. "Now, I'm going to describe your injuries in as much detail as possible. Tell us anything you think of."

"Ok." I say. I look at Mycroft. He looks worried and almost...upset. I dread to think how graphic these descriptions - and subsequent flashbacks - will be.

The doctor takes in a deep breath and begins. "We'll start with your face. Your right cheek has two almost parallel lines drawn through it, probably using a long knife of some description. They aren't too deep and must have been fairly early on, as they're pretty much healed now." He pauses as I close my eyes.

_"Sherlock." Moriarty calls my name gently, I remain with my head bowed and my eyes closed. "Look up, I want to see your pretty eyes." He teases. The flat of a knife is placed under my chin, lifting it up, so I am forced to look at my tormentor. The metal is cold on my hot skin. "There we go, that's better." He says quietly. His eyes are bright and vicious, he's enjoying this enormously. "Wouldn't it be a shame if I hurt that lovely face?" He asks me, or himself, I can't really tell. Before I can reply, the knife is drawn sharply across my cheek. I feel my hot blood trickle down my skin. Then, another line is drawn just above it. "Stop!" Moriarty swings round to look behind him, I look too. Sitting the other side of the room is John. He is tied to a metal pole. "Cut me, not him." John says valiantly. "No, John, let him." I say weakly. Blood trickles between my lips when I speak. Moriarty walks slowly over to John. "No" I say repeatedly, but I am ignored._

I open my eyes again. I'm back in the hospital. I look at Mycroft. He is poised, pen in hand, waiting. I open my mouth, expecting blood to trickle into it again, before I remember it was in the flashback, not here. "It was Moriarty, he cut my face, and John said no, so he turned to him instead." I say shakily. Mycroft scribbles something down and looks back up at me. "Can you continue?" He asks. I don't feel like it, but I am fuelled by the knowledge that Moriarty could be doing all this and worse to John right now, and John can't just open his eyes and escape. "Yes." I say, as firmly as I can.


	6. Electrodes

Chapter 6: Electrodes

The doctor and Mycroft sit in silence for a minute or two while I recover. Mycroft watches my face intently the whole time, but the doctor has his forehead creased, as if deep in thought.

"Sherlock" he says eventually "I think it would be good if we attached electrodes to you, so we can monitor you better while you're having flashbacks." He looks over to Mycroft, who gives him a quick nod.

"If it'll help find John, I'll do it." I say. For some reason, I have a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach.

The doctor gets up and leaves the room, I hear his shoes squeaking on the polished floor of the corridor. He returns a few minutes later with a set of electrodes and a small device attached by a set of wires.

"They'll be placed on your head, shoulders and chest." He says, coming towards me. I nod and swallow.

Mycroft notices my discomfort "What is it?" He asks me, looking deeply into my eyes.

"I don't know." I say, trying to think of an explanation of how I feel. "I just feel...nervous." Mycroft writes this down before looking back up at me.

I close my eyes as the doctor attaches the first electrode. From the feeling I'm having, I can tell another flashback is coming. Before I can do anything to stop it, I'm plunged into the darkness of my memories.

_I'm sitting in a hard chair. Directly opposite me sits John, in an identical chair. His marine blue eyes seem full of fear as he stares at me. I am strapped into the chair tightly by cords at my wrists, ankles and torso. John is too. They are pulled too tight, cutting into our skin. I feel a little pinch on my left temple, then my right. I try to jerk away. "Stay still, Sherlock." Moriarty says gently. Another pinch, this time on the top of my shoulder, I jerk again. "Stay still, will you, or things will get messy pretty quickly." Moriarty says, a warning tone slipping into his voice. I feel more pinches on my chest, thighs, back and stomach, but I manage to stay still. "Better." _

_Moriarty goes over to John and starts to repeat the procedure, he knows better than to move a muscle. "What are these?" I ask cautiously. "Electrodes." Moriarty replies, John nods in frightened agreement. "What do they do?" I ask. Too late, I see John make the most minute shake of his head, but I've already asked the question. There is a pause, while Moriarty thinks of the answer._

_"John seems to know, why don't you tell him, John?" Moriarty says, a small smile on his face. John clears his throat. "They're used to monitor movement by measuring electrical impulses." John pauses "Go on." Moriarty coaxes "They can conduct electricity too..." John finishes. Immediately, I know what Moriarty is planning. He's going to give us shocks, probably for saying or doing the wrong thing, or maybe just to end his boredom._

_Once Moriarty has finished, he stands between us, looking from me to John as he speaks. "You've both been rather quiet, so I thought I'd liven things up a little. Who's going to volunteer to go first?" He asks. _

_"I will." Says John before I can do anything to stop him._

_"Ah, the valiant soldier." Moriarty says happily, turning to John. He picks up the device connected to John's electrodes and gently turns it over in his hands. John suddenly jumps "Whoops!" Moriarty says "I 'accidentally' pressed a button." _

_I am furious that Moriarty can get away with this. I pull against the straps but they just dig further into my skin. I can't do anything to help John._

_Moriarty reaches for the controller of my electrodes. He now has John's in his left hand, and mine in his right._

_ "This game is called 'Who can deal with the largest shock?'. I'll give each of you the same shock at the same time, and they'll slowly become more powerful. The person who survives the longest without passing out, or some other interesting reaction, is the winner. The twist: if you cry out, or pass out or something, the 'winner' gets and extra, higher shock and and special treat." Moriarty explains, an evil glint in his eyes. They sparkle, not like stars, but like the light you know you should never go into._

_John and I exchange a worried glance. Neither of us wants to cry out first, knowing it will have serious consequences for the other person. The first shock is nothing more than a static shock. It makes makes both John and I visibly jump, but we have no inclination to make a sound._

_"Good." Moriarty says, thoroughly enjoying the process. The next shock makes us both jump more violently. I know the shocks can't be very strong yet, but we're both already weak. I desperately want to ask John if he's ok, but I don't want to provoke Moriarty into making any decisions. I have to win. I have to._

_Three shocks later, I notice I'm beginning to tremble very slightly. This isn't good. I can't pass out, I can't cry out. I say this over and over in my head as the next shock comes. I manage to stay quiet, but I'm shaking more. Moriarty has noticed. "Oh John, it looks like you're winning." He says, a smile creeping into his voice. I look at John. I try to apologise with my eyes for what I know is likely to happen very soon. John just looks back at me. His eyes are worn and tired, lacking their usual glow._

_I barely feel the next shock before darkness consumes me. Just as my head drops, I hear John desperately and despairingly shout my name._

When I open my eyes, I am back in the hospital. Mycroft is holding my shaking wrists in his firm hands. His long fingers easily encircling them. The electrodes have been removed from my body. Although my eyes are open, I can't really focus on anything. The room is a blur of white with darker blobs looming in places.

"Sherlock? Can you hear me? What happened?" My brother asks. A tone of fear in his voice, something I haven't heard in decades.

When he doesn't receive and answer, he gently squeezes my wrists. "You kept jolting suddenly, like you were being shocked by something."

After a couple of minutes, I mumble "Moriarty gave shocks with electrodes, I lost, John punished, don't know how." I am unsure whether Mycroft makes out what I say or not, but he lets go of me nonetheless.

Before I can make out anything else, I feel and mask being placed over y nose and mouth again. Within seconds, I am out cold once more.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed or favorited this story, it's really nice to know people like my work :)**


	7. The Map

Chapter 7: The Map

When I awaken the next morning, I am feeling better than any other day. Not long after I wake up, the nurse who washed me on the first day comes in. Again, wheeling a large tray behind her.

"Hello Sherlock, feeling better today?" She asks cheerily.

"Much better."

"You look it. Good. That makes my job today a lot easier." She says in reply. "I'm going to wash you. Like last time, I'll start with your face."

I nod, knowing the experience will be much more bearable this time. In fact, I don't feel any sting at all until the nurse moves on to my chest. Even then, it's not too bad. This time, the nurse allows me to lift my head and look at my injuries. I am shocked by quite how many cuts there are on my chest. The cuts are in sets. Parallel lines of different depths and lengths, almost like on of my experiments in the labs at St Bart's hospital. Although I use the dead, not my living enemy...

Once she finishes my front, the nurse rinses the cloth as she says "Right, you're doing well. I need to do your back now. Do you think you can turn over without passing out and writing on the bed screaming this time?" Her smile brightens on her face.

I nod again, giving a quick smile back. Slowly and carefully, I begin to turn. My body aches a little, but not so much so that the pain makes me unable to move. Once I'm comfortable, the nurse speaks again. "Sherlock, the cuts on your back, they're..."

"They're what?" I ask as she hesitates.

"Well, I didn't really notice when I washed them before, with you having that flashback and then being knocked out. But now, I've noticed something." She waits for me to comment, but I don't, wondering what she means. "They seem to follow a pattern. Not lines, like on your chest, but a sort of picture, maybe a...map?" She concludes.

A map. A map of what, or to what? John! What if it leads to John? "Get Mycroft." Is all I say. My urgency causes the nurse to leap into action. It is a mere minute or two before the nurse returns with Mycroft. Their feet pound the floor. As they enter, I hear their heaving breaths from running through the hospital corridors. Mycroft stands over me for a few moments before speaking.

"I see what you mean, it does look like a map..." He says, still studying my wounds.

"It looks like some of them may have faded, being shallower than others." The nurse adds.

Both of them are silent. I desperately wrack my brains. I need to see the map. Knowing Moriarty, he would have made the most important lines the lightest, so they're harder to make out. Suddenly, I have an idea.

"What if I have a flashback?"

"Sherlock?" Mycroft questions, not understanding my meaning.

"What if I make myself have a flashback of Moriarty cutting into my back, and then try to...draw each slash that I feel, making a paper map?" I ask, thinking aloud.

There is silence for a few moments before my brother speaks again. "You'd have to stay half in the hospital, half in your mind. Could you manage that? The flashback might be worse than any others you've had."

"Its the best option we've got." I say decisively, hiding the terror I feel inside.

"Get paper, a pen, a doctor and..." Mycroft says to the nurse, whispering out of my earshot by the end.

A few minutes later, I hold a pen in my hand, poised, paper underneath, waiting to be scarred as my flesh is. I can't see how many people are in the room, as I am on my front, with my head to the side, I try not to think about why they're here.

"How do you plan to trigger the right flashback?" Mycroft asks me.

"Someone needs to trace some of the cuts on my back with a metal object." I say, having thought of this already. I desperately hope it'll work.

"Ready?" My brother asks

"Ready." I say, shutting my eyes as I do so. I feel as Mycroft traces the first cut, the metal is cold on my warm skin. Then, everything goes quiet, the hospital is gone.

_"Sherlock. Stay awake. We don't want to end the fun just yet, do we?" Moriarty says. His face is close to mine. I can feel his breath on my damaged skin. "Open your eyes." He says a little louder. I do so, knowing not to fight back by now. "Good. You've finally learnt. I'm afraid your stay with me is almost at an end. John's, however, is not. Your brother and most of Scotland Yard are on their way here. They'll find you, but not me or your little soldier friend. We'll be long gone. But don't worry, I'm going to show Mycroft where to find us." Moriarty explains. _

_I am lying face down on the floor. Ropes hold me down at my wrists, ankles and torso. Even if I was loose, I'd lack the energy to move very far._

_Out of the corner of my eye, I see John. He is tied up, watching helplessly. Moriarty has already informed him that if he utters a sound, my ordeal will be worse. His mouth is firmly shut._

_Looking at Moriarty again, I see he is holding a long, thin blade. He sees me looking at it._

_"Nice, this, isn't it?" _

_With this, he walks round my my right hand side and kneels down, ready._

_As the blade touches my skin, it feels cold and vicious. The first cut goes from the centre of my back towards Moriarty. It is not deep, but it hurts._

I manage to half awaken myself, just enough to draw a shaky line on the paper and hear my own pained cries.

_Then I'm back on the floor with my enemy. "This one's going to huurt." Moriarty coos. Before I have a chance to think, the blade slices down the length of my spine. Its path is deep and jagged._

Again, I awaken myself enough to draw the line, hearing my excruciating cries and a few muttered phrases: "This is worse than any other." "How's he doing this?" Before dropping back into the deep world of my mind.

_"Oh, that was loud, wasn't it John. There's a lot of blood, too." How long do you think big brother will have before little Sherlock bleeds to death?" I can feel my warm blood trickling off my back, even getting the slight metallic whiff of it. I groan quietly. "There now, Sherlock, don't you worry. It'll all be over soon." Moriarty says. It surprises me how he could sound so calm and gentle while he carved into my delicate flesh._

After God knows how many cuts are drawn in my flesh and lines drawn onto paper, I drop back into the darkness for what I hoped would be the last time.


	8. Inside my Mind

Chapter 8: Inside my mind

"Its _ok, Sherlock. We're finished now. John and I are going to pop off, and you can wait here to be rescued." Moriarty says, finally putting the knife down._

_"John." I call out weakly. My voice rasping and slurred a little._

_"Go on, you can speak, John." _

_"Sherlock, you'll be rescued soon. You're losing a lot of blood. Try to stay awake for as long as possible. Please, Sherlock, don't allow your eyes to close until Mycroft gets here." John half pleads. His eyes aren't pitiful, as he knows I hate it, but they look fearful and desperate; I decide my injuries must look almost as horrific as the feel._

_"Ah, ever the life saver. Too bad there's nobody coming for you, John." Moriarty says. With that, the hauls John to his feet and drags him out of the room._

_"Bye Sherlock. Sleep tight." He adds tauntingly, I hear their footsteps retreat, then nothing, I am alone._

_Sleep. I want it badly. John told me not to shut my eyes, to stay awake. I don't know how long I'll keep this promise. I try to assess my situation. I don't know how much blood I've already lost, but I'm losing it fast. It could be hours before I'm found, will I last that long?_

_I can feel the pool of blood around me. The blood trickled off my back at first, but now there's a steady flow. The pool is growing by the minute. Already, I'm starting to feel dizzy and lightheaded. My vision is blurring slightly. I try to focus, to stay awake. At first, I try counting backwards in 23s, but my mind cannot focus. Then,I try talking, screaming, shouting, tapping my fingers. It doesn't work for long._

_Eventually, I can keep my eyes open no longer. They shut and I begin to blur in and out of consciousness. Every time I awaken, I punish myself for going against John's instructions. The pool of blood is now in my line of sight. I can see its red glow. It looks deadly and menacing._

_The next time I come to, I vaguely make out footsteps and voices. As they come closer, I just make out the conversation: "Sherlock? On no...no. Mycroft, in here. It's not looking good. Quick."_

_I hear two sets of footsteps come towards my limp body. I desperately want to move, to speak, but I can't. _

_"Sherlock? He's breathing, Mycroft, breathing lightly. His pulse is very weak."_

_I open my eyes and vaguely make out the silhouettes of my brother and the detective. I can't focus enough to see their faces. The effort of keeping my eyes open is already becoming too much again._

_"Sherlock? Stay with us, Sherlock." Lestrade begs. I close my eyes again, blocking them out._

_"We're going to have to carry him."_

_"Take your shirt off, we need to wrap up the wound." I hear movement as Mycroft and Lestrade both remove their shirts, then I feel the pressure on my back. I groan._

_"Don't worry, Sherlock, you're safe now." Lestrade says, trying to comfort me. It fails, simply reminding me of Moriarty's taunts._

_"Help me undo these ropes." As soon as my hands are freed, they drop to my side, into the lake of my blood. I am unable to lift them out again._

_"We'll have to lift him. On the count of three: one, two, THREE!" Their hands slip under my body and lift me off the ground. The sudden movement causes my head to swirl. Before I hear any more, my body goes completely limp. I hear one of my rescuers say "Sherlock? Don't die on us, you can't." before I am consumed into darkness once again._

"Sherlock? Wake up." Mycroft says, gently shaking my shoulder. I open my eyes, expecting to be surrounded by crimson blood, but I'm not. I'm in the hospital.

"You?" I say, croaking out the word.

"I what?" Mycroft questions.

"You and Lestrade rescued me?"

"You had a flashback to that?" My brother asks, half amazed, half horrified.

"It started with the map drawing, did I do it?" I ask, suddenly remembering the purpose of my flashback.

"Tell me what happened first." Mycroft begs.

"Moriarty cut me, I was on the floor. John was forced to watch, but not allowed to talk. Then John and Moriarty left. John told me to stay awake, to keep my eyes open, but I failed. I heard you and Lestrade, and I felt you wrap your shirts around me, but I was only half conscious. When you lifted me up, everything went black." I slowly explain, going into as much detail as I can manage.

"Ah yes, we thought you'd died when we lifted you because you went so limp. I don't think I've ever run faster while carrying something." Mycroft replies. He seems to be avoiding talking about the map. I need to know if it has worked or not.

"The map?" I ask again.

"It was horrific to watch, with you letting out blood curdling screams every time you drew a line, but it looks very like the marks on your back, so, it was a success..." He tails off. There's still something he's not saying.

"What is it?" I demand.

"Sorry?"

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Well, we studied the map, to find out where John is and..."

"And?"

"He's in 221C, the flat below yours. Mrs Hudson's away visiting family, so the flats are deserted." Mycroft finishes.

We've been within an hour of John for over a week, but never found him. How? We are this close, but I feel a million mikes from my best friend. It cannot stay this way.

I immediately fly into action, throwing the covers off myself and forcing my body off the bed. My legs wobble weakly and I lunge for something to steady myself. This happens to be Mycroft.


	9. Into Action

Chapter 9: Into Action

"Steady, Sherlock." Mycroft says, supporting my weight and gently pushing me back onto my bed.

"No, I have to help John."

"We're already mobilising people to get him, Sherlock." Mycroft says confidently.

"No. I'm coming too." I repeat. How I hate repeating myself...

"Sherlock-"

"I'm coming." I repeat yet again.

"You'll have to stand up first." Mycroft says, finally giving in. He runs a hand through his thinning hair. He hates being defeated.

With this, I more carefully sit up, slowly swinging my feet over the side of the bed and placing them on the cold tiles of the hospital floor. I have to wait for a few seconds as the blood rushes to my head, causing a moment of dizziness.

"I'll bring you some clothes then." My brother says reluctantly before leaving the room.

Once alone, I slowly push myself up off the bed, placing my hands on the side and forcing myself upwards. At first, I wobble and my knees begin to buckle; I haven't walked in over a week. I know I have to be there to ensure John gets out. I can't let him be taken from me yet again. I just hope it's not too late...

After a few minutes of walking around the room cautiously, I gain confidence and stride around, almost as normal. When Mycroft returns with my clothes, he makes no comment on my state, but simply dumps the clothing on the bed and leaves.

I dress quickly, making sure my white shirt is straight under my black blazer. People misunderstand me when I wear pretty much the same thing all the time. I'm not dressing up for fun, this is my uniform. It gets me respect and what I want, but also allows me to go about my normal life at ease.

Once I am ready, I take a deep breath and leave the room I've been living in for over a week. Who knows what'll happen to me in the next few hours.

The corridor is quiet. It is long and narrow, with the same whitewashed walls and antiseptic smell of my room. How I hate it. Before I get a chance to do anything else, Mycroft strolls down the corridor towards me.

"Finally emerged, brother dear?"

"Where are they?" I say, referring to the police I shall join in finding John, and ignoring my brother's remark.

"This way." He says, turning and walking away from me down the corridor, his umbrella gently pointing in the direction of his travel. I hastily follow my brother, wondering as I go why he feels the need to carry an umbrella around with him all the time, even indoors. To me, it's ridiculous. But then, almost everything Mycroft does seems ridiculous to me and clearly our feelings are mutual.

Mycroft swings open the double exit doors of the hospital and I take into a huge gasp of fresh air. Clean, cool, crisp night air that I haven't felt in days, probably weeks.

Before me are two police vans filled with armed response officers. Lestrade waves me over to his police car and I hop in, Mycroft quickly following suit.

"You look much better just being out of that place, Sherlock." The officer remarks, looking at me.

"Yes, whatever, let's just go." I say, impatiently tapping my foot on the floor of the vehicle.

Sensing my clear urgency, Lestrade leans out of the car window and calls "Everyone ready? Follow the car." And with this, he starts the engine.

The journey is quiet but filled with trepidation. In a way, I want it to last forever, images of John lying dead on the floor flashing through my mind. But that can't happen, John has to be alive, for me. Moriarty wouldn't kill him anyway, he's far too cruel to offer that much mercy.

After what feels like eternity, we finally arrive at 221B. My home, where John has been residing all this time.

I leap out of the car before it has fully stropped, ignoring my brother's cries for me to wait. I've waited long enough already; I'm not waiting any longer.

I fly up the steps to the door and peer through the letterbox. At first, there is darkness, nothing, but as my eyes adjust, I see a glimmer of light coming from under the door to 221c.

Mycroft and Lestrade are behind me as I silently unlock the door and push it open. I walk into the hallway, treading carefully so as not to cause a creak from the floorboards. Mycroft has the sense to follow my footsteps exactly, knowing I'm avoiding noisy floorboards. Lestrade also follows suit, signalling for the men behind us to do the same.

I head towards the door to 221c, realising that I'm shaking a little. My heart is racing, pumping blood and adrenaline through my veins. I stop at the door, placing my ear to the wood carefully. Light slips under the door and at the edges, even it cannot fully escape the grasps of Moriarty.

Through the door, I can hear muffled sounds. At first, they are inaudible, but as my ears tune-in to the lower volume, I am able to make out what is being said, just about.

"Don't worry John, the rescue team is on their way to get you." Comes the gentle coo that is far too familiar. So, John's still alive then, and Moriarty seems unaware of our presence, sort of. I continue to listen.

"Oh no no no, John, don't try to talk. That's it, close your eyes, go on." The tormentor coaxes. His voice calm and gentle.

John must be in a bad way, that's certain. The way Moriarty is speaking and the lack of noise shows John's defeat. Seems like we got here just in time...

Since Carl Powers' trainers were left into 221c during the bomber mystery, I haven't been down to the flat below my own. Ugh, returning to the scene of a previous crime, tut tut Moriarty, I think to myself.

However, despite this, I cannot remember whether the door makes a sound when opened or not. Damn me for deleting it. I guess I'll just have to open it and see, no point delaying the moment any longer...

I turn around, seeing Mycroft and Lestrade right behind me, with about 20 or so police officers armed with batons behind them. I reach out and take a baton from the nearest officer, just in case. I look back at Mycroft, he simply raises his eyebrows at me. Lestrade nods slightly and braces himself.

I turn back to the door and place my hand on the handle. I tense and grip it firmly, feeling the cold metal against my hot skin.

I push down the handle and thrust the door open, it squeaks on it's hinges as it swings open and I cringe at the cruel sound. Light floods the corridor as it is let loose.

From somewhere below me in 221c, I hear a cheery call of "Hello!" as the lights suddenly go out. The world turns pitch black as panic breaks out.

* * *

**Thanks for reading this far!**

**To the guest reviewer (Sue) : thanks for reading and reviewing my writing. I'm sorry that the chapters are short, I might fill them out one day... And yes, you're right, I do like cliffhanger endings, as you've just seen... :)**


	10. From Darkness to Light

Chapter 10: From darkness to light

Immediately after the lights go off, I hear several sets of footsteps come flying up the stairs towards me. I brace myself, my baton swinging wildly in my hand. It collides with something hard and I hear a slight crack followed by a cry of pain and a thud. Success. One attacker down, several to go.

By now, my eyes are beginning to adjust to the darkness. Someone behind me is shining a torch. It casts a feeble beam down the steep stairs. Without waiting another second, I launch myself down the stairs. Mycroft shouts my name and I hear footsteps following me.

I swing my baton at a shadow in the darkness. Another crunch and another thud. All my play sword fighting with John in the evenings finally seems worthwhile...

I'm just thinking about how disorganised this whole operation is -partly due to my haste and partly due to the failure of Scotland yard- when someone trips on one of the bodies behind me, sending them tumbling down the stairs and taking me in their clumsy wake.

We continue to fall for several seconds before the stairs reach an end. I immediately roll away from the foot of the stairs to avoid being a trip hazard myself. I see a glint of metal in the thin rays of the torch and freeze. Before I can think of a way to escape, I feel the cold blade being pushed against my neck and the lights flick on again.

I shut my eyes momentarily in the sudden brightness, but they soon adjust and I stare up at Moriarty, his brown eyes boring into my skin. He has caused me so much pain, so much horror and now I am inches away from it yet again. I open my mouth to speak but am beaten to it by my former torturer.

"Anybody moves, and it's lights out for our little detective, literally." Moriarty almost sings out.

Instantly, there is silence as everyone freezes. Police officers are perched on the stairs, awaiting the opportunity to pounce, Lestrade only just able to hold them back. Mycroft is sitting at the bottom of the stairs, staring at us both. He must've been the one to fall. Clumsy idiot.

"There, now we've got some order, let's sort this mess out." He continues.

"Where. Is. John?" I say fiercely between heavy breaths.

"Oh, he's over in the corner." Moriarty says casually, as if pointing out which cupboard I would find coffee in.

I follow his gaze and see my friend lying face down on the floor. From this distance, I can't make out whether he's breathing or not. I need to reach him as quickly as possible.

"Let. Me. Go. To. Him." I say angrily, glaring up at Moriarty.

"Whoa, hang on, Sherlock. There's a deal to be done first."

"What deal?" I ask.

"Oh, Mycroft hasn't told you that part? Let's let him explain, shall we?" Moriarty answers, smiling menacingly.

We both turn our gaze to Mycroft in expectant silence. He seems worried and a little put out.

"Well, you see, Moriarty took you because he wanted something from me-" he begins, but is interrupted by Moriarty.

"-and to have some fuuunnnn." He adds cheerfully.

My brother continues. "He wanted to take some highly secret information that my team had recently gathered about Syria. Obviously, I didn't give it to him, so Moriarty took you for leverage. At first, I told him nothing, but then he started sending me videos of your torture, and I couldn't bare it." Mycroft pauses and looks at the floor, so Moriarty takes over.

"As your brother gave me small pieces if information about Syria, I gave him small pieces of information about you."

"Like what?" I say through gritted teeth, knowing every second wasted could be the last second of John's life.

"A clue about your location, how you were, something like that." Mycroft answers then continues his explanation. "Eventually, Moriarty agreed to let you, Sherlock, be freed."

"Why me?" I ask nobody in particular.

"Because I knew that if you survived, you would be sure to take action and come and find John as fast as possible. It was more fun to watch that way." Moriarty explains.

Moriarty then walks me across the room, the long knife still against my neck. He pushes open a trap door and starts dragging me inside, as I struggle, the knife is drawn lightly across my skin.

"What are you doing?" Mycroft asks, watching us with concern.

"I'm going to make my escape now. I'll take Sherlock part way down the tunnel to give myself a head start, then I'll release him, allowing him to reach John. If any of you follow me, or Sherlock tries to chase or attack me, Sherlock will be killed." He says before dragging my into the dark alley.

The alley smells damp and is slightly slippery underfoot. I'm unsure of how long we walk for. It must only be a couple of minutes, but every step I take is a step away from John.

Eventually, Moriarty says "Goodbye Sherlock, catch you later!" Before releasing me and running into the darkness.

I immediately sprint in the opposite direction, desperate to reach John - catching Moriarty will have to wait until later.

Finally, I see the light at the end of the alley and burst through the trap door, back into the room.

"It's ok, we can move now." I say to the motionless group of people before me. Lestrade immediately takes off down the alley, followed by several of the other officers. There's no point in chasing Moriarty, he'll be long gone, but I can't stop them and don't try to.

Then, without wasting another moment, I run across the dim room to John and collapse at his side.

* * *

**Sorry for all the cliffhangers, I can't seem to resist them... Thanks for all your follows, favorites, reviews and support, I really appreciate it :)**


	11. John

Chapter 11: John

"John?" I ask carefully, doubting he'll reply. I lean close to his face, trying to listen for any sign of life. I say his name again, just a little louder.

As expected, I get no answer. I fumble around trying to feel for John's pulse, noticing my hands are shaking slightly. I can't really see what I'm doing. Eventually, I find John's wrist and place two fingers where I know his pulse should be. At first, I can't feel anything and begin to panic, but then I feel a slight beat.

Relief floods me for a second as I know my best friend is still alive. I silently promise right there and then never to let anything like this happen to John ever again.

"Is he breathing?" My brother asks from behind me, startling me a little. I wasn't aware of his presence. He sounds surprisingly calm, but also concerned. Maybe he does have feelings, just like me...

"Urm he...he's got a weak pulse. We need to get somewhere lighter." I mumble, not turning around.

I hear Mycroft fumbling around near the wall opposite me. I wonder what he's doing. Then, I hear a click and light floods the room.

"Thanks."I say, quickly looking up before turning back to John.

Now in full light, John looks even worse. His shirt is stained with blood and his hair is ruffled and dirty. John's breaths sound strained and difficult.

"Roll 'im onto 'is front." Someone says from behind me, probably one of the officers who didn't join in the chase of Moriarty. I don't bother looking round, I just do as he says, knowing that he's right, that it'll help John.

I slide my hands underneath John and quickly but carefully turn him over. He lets out a groan as I do so. The front of John's shirt is also coated in his own blood.

Momentarily, John's eyes lull open. I get a glimpse of their deep blue. They don't shine like usual, but seem dull and vacant. "John?" I ask again. No response. His pulse feels even weaker than before.

I carefully unbutton John's shirt and remove it to assess the damage. Cuts cover his chest and there is a deep wound near his stomach. I immediately remove my scarf and wrap it around John.

From above, I hear sirens followed by racing footsteps. Within moments, several paramedics are crowded around John.

"This doesn't look good. Wound to the abdomen, severe blood loss, blow to the head. He's got a weak pulse." One of the paramedics says.

They gently slide John onto a stretcher. He groans again but his eyes remain closed. I feel helpless and I hate it.

I follow as John is carried up the steep staircase, out of 221B and into the ambulance. He looks too vulnerable lying still on the stretcher.

Even from inside the vehicle, the sirens are loud as we race towards the hospital.

An oxygen mask is placed over John's nose and mouth. I watch his chest as it gently rises and falls. The nurse attaches a drip into John's hand. She works quickly and carefully. Efficient, just as John would be.

"He's been in the wars, your friend." She remarks.

I wince at her comment. He survived the war, but will he survive this?

"He's lost a huge amount of blood." She adds, trying to brush over her last remark, seeing that it hadn't really been appropriate.

I know what it's like to lose a huge amount of blood. After all, when I was rescued, I had lost a lot of blood myself. I remember the peace of it. It's strange really when you're at a critical state, with people panicking all around you, how blissful you can be. It's like being drugged.

I remember hearing people talking and moving around me, but not really thinking about it. When I heard my name, I recognised it, but didn't act upon it. I wonder if John feels the same.

After what feels like an eternity of watching John's breathing become more and more strained, his pulse more and more erratic, we reach the hospital.

"Hold on John, you're safe now." I say quietly, more to myself than my friend.

The doors of the ambulance immediately fly open and I have to jump back out of the way to avoid being hit. John is wheeled through the double doors into the white world I have come to hate. I begin to run after the procession, but I am stopped as someone places their hand firmly on my fast-beating chest, holding me back.

* * *

**Sorry for the slightly shorter chapter. Thanks to everyone who has followed, favotited, reviewed or even read this far, it's much appreciated and hells me to keep writing :)**


	12. Waiting

Chapter 12: Waiting

I flinch at the contact, partly due to the strangeness of being touched and partly due to the cuts that are not yet fully healed on my chest. The hand is removed.

"Leave me alone" I say irritably, sidestepping the person, Lestrade, who is blocking my way.

"Sherlock, John's in good hands now. The best hands." Lestrade says, moving with me so that I can't get past. "Come on, let's go to the waiting room." He adds, leading me away from John, in the opposite direction. I allow myself to be guided to the room, and walk through the white door as Lestrade holds it open for me.

Thankfully, the waiting room is empty and quiet when we get there. On the walls are large print-outs of landscapes. I sit down on an orange plastic chair and gaze at a photo of a stream. The water is flowing past a rock, causing little ripples that sparkle in the light. The light glistens on the surface, so you can almost see the water moving. People think I don't appreciate things like nature, but they're wrong. I appreciate it, I just don't waste my time on it if there's something better to do. At this point in time, there's nothing better to do.

For a while, Lestrade and I sit in silence. There's really nothing to say, nothing that needs to be said.

I think about John. I try to picture John in my mind palace, the John before we were abducted. I picture John sitting in his chair, John next to me in the cab, John running beside me. Every time, however, blood always creeps onto his shirt, and an oxygen mask creeps onto his face. The images suddenly feel all too vivid.

Then, I think about Moriarty. The way he can stare right through you, his eyes never leaving yours. How his suit always stays perfect, even as he carves you up like a cut of meat. His chirpy voice that says such threatening things. I can almost feel the cold metal blade of a sharp knife being pressed to my neck, feel Moriarty's breaths on my skin, hear his menacing voice.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" Lestrade says, nudging me. I snap out of my thoughts to find I'm shaking, my breaths coming thick and fast, my heart racing.

"You started mumbling to yourself and then you got louder and louder." Lestrade explains. "Are you ok?"

I make no response. I just stare at the picture of the stream once more, imagining the sound it would make as it went over the rock, and how it would change if I were to stand in the probably-icy water.

Sometime later, the silence is broken again as the door to the room slowly opens and a nurse walks in. I immediately sit up and look at her expectantly. She glances between us.

"Sherlock Holmes?" She asks.

"Me." I say, not taking my eyes off hers. "How's John?" I quickly ask, I need to know.

"He's had a rough time, hasn't he?" She begins. Why do people never just get to the point?

"Is he ok and will he be ok?" I demand.

"He's sedated at the moment, to speed his recovery. It will take him a while to recover, but he should make a full recovery, with a few scars." She says quickly, eyeing the scars on my neck as she does so.

"What were his injuries?" Lestrade asks, for some reason, he's always been interested in the actual injuries people receive in murders and the like.

"All of them?" The nurse asks.

"We've got plenty of time." He says expectantly.

"Well.." The nurse reluctantly begins "At this point in time, you know more about how John got the injuries than we do. He had a blow to the head, quite a large one, a couple of hours ago. This may have given him concussion, although it was hard to tell as we couldn't get much out of him. The wound to his abdomen was weak, but thankfully, it missed cutting into any vital organs, meaning it isn't life threatening. Some of his cuts are fresh, but others are old and infected, we're giving him antibiotics for that. He also had three broken ribs, which explains his poor breathing when you found him. It's lucky you got to him when you did, he was very close to...going over the edge. And we're still not out of the woods yet."

Neither Lestrade or I interrupt, and neither of us speak afterwards. All we do is sit and take in John's injuries. I think about how he would have obtained them, I expect Lestrade is thinking about the pain, how John would feel.

Seeing that we are deep in thought, the nurse gets up and walks quietly to the door. As she leaves, Lestrade mumbles "Thank you," which she acknowledges with a nod of her head.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone for their lovely reviews (they make my day), follows and favorites! I'm really sorry, but there may not be an update tomorrow as I haven't even started the chapter yet. It will definitely be up by Thursday. Sorry for the wait!**


	13. Awakening

**Thanks for all your lovely reviews :) I managed to get the next chapter done in time, enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 13: Awakening

After a little while, Lestrade has to leave. After all, Moriarty is still on the loose. I doubt they will be able to find him, as he only gets found when he wants to be, but I want to be alone, so I tell Lestrade to go.

Once he's left, I sit for a few more minutes in the waiting room, calculating John's chance of survival without any kind of long lasting problems. Physically, he'll be fine in about 6 weeks, but mentally, he could take much longer...

Eventually, I leave the waiting room and try to find John. I blunder mindlessly down the white, shiny corridors until I find a reception desk and ask where John is. After a few calls, I'm given directions and head towards the intensive care unit. A bit obvious really.

Once I reach the unit, it doesn't take me long to find John's room. The door is closed but I gently push it open and step inside. John looks peaceful. He's asleep and completely drugged up. Several lines are in his left arm, and he still has the oxygen mask over his face. I realise that I must have looked much the same way when I was rescued. It sickens me how I must have looked so vulnerable.

For a few minutes, I just hover in the doorway looking at John. Then, I pull up another orange plastic seat (what is it with these and hospitals?) and sit at John's side. I watch his now steady, deep breathing and see his heartbeat on the monitor. I also feel his pulse, just to be sure. It's strong and fighting.

I'm not sure how long I sit there, watching, waiting, thinking, but eventually I leave. John clearly won't be awake for a while. I don't go back to 221B though, John's chair would look too empty without him there. In fact, I don't even leave the hospital. Instead, I curl up on some kind of padded seats just outside the ICU and fall asleep.

* * *

"Sherlock? Wake up, Sherlock." I awaken with a start. Opening my eyes, I half expect to see Moriarty staring down at me, this was his usual greeting.

Seeing that it is only Lestrade, I try to slow by heart rate and steady my breathing.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you." Lestrade says, a little put out by my reaction.

"No no, I urm...I thought you were Moriarty." I mumble.

"Oh."

I get up and brush my clothes down, trying to remove the creases.

"Did you sleep there all night?" Lestrade asks, concern slipping onto his face and into his voice. After all, I suppose I am technically still meant to be a hospital patient myself...

"Yes." I say simply, no point denying it, even Anderson couldn't miss the signs.

I start to walk in the direction of John's room, Lestrade follows. At the door to his room, we pass a nurse.

"How is he?" I ask her, stopping her in her tracks.

"We're going to reduce the drugs now, so he'll start coming round soon. Don't expect too much out of him though." She says before dodging around me to move onto the next patient.

Lestrade and I enter the room, pull up two chairs and sit at John's bedside.

A different nurse comes into the room and presses a few buttons on the machine next to John's bed. Then, she removes one of the lines from John's arm and carefully takes off his oxygen mask.

"It could take up to an hour for the drugs to get out of his system enough that he regains consciousness." The nurse says bluntly before giving us a small smile and heading towards the door. Then, she stops turns around and says "If you're worried about anything, ring the bell and we'll be right here." With that, she gives a curt nod and leaves the room, the door gently closing behind her.

Lestrade and I turn back to John. He still looks just the same as before: dead to the world.

Leaning back in the chair, Lestrade prepares for the wait. I continue to watch John, I watch his chest rise and fall with each breath. The rhythmic pattern of it is almost soothing.

After about half an hour, I notice John's hand twitch. Lestrade clearly does too because he immediately sits up and looks at John closely. Neither of us say anything, but there's really nothing to say, not until John wakes up...

10 minutes later, John's eyes slowly open. I remember what it was like when I woke up: the confusion, the blurred vision, the white walls. They're all too familiar. I wonder how much be remembers of his ordeal, of our ordeal.

"Hello, John." I say cautiously, trying not to startle him.

His eyes turn towards us and he blinks several times, trying to make the picture clearer.

"Do you want a drink?" I ask, suddenly remembering how thirsty I was when I awoke, and realising that I haven't eaten or drunk anything for nearly 24 hours.

John makes a sort of consenting noise, so I pour a cup of water from the jug next to his bed and put it to his lips. He drinks quickly, becoming more aware as the drugs wear off.

"Better?" I ask, just as Lestrade did for me.

"Much." John just about croaks out, his voice sounds hoarse, like a child who's screamed for hours without stopping.

Lestrade's phone bleeps, announcing he has a text. He looks at it quickly, mumbles that he has to go, and leaves, giving John a nod as he closes the door behind him.

I turn back to John, ready to explain everything to him.


	14. Recovery

Chapter 14: Recovery

"Sherlock?" John asks, his voice sounding more normal now, although still a little raw.

"Yes?" I ask, knowing what his question is likely to be.

"How long have I been out?" He asks after a short pause. To be honest, that wasn't the question I was expecting. Maybe he remembers more than I thought he would. I'm not sure if I should be glad about that or not...

"Urm we got to the hospital at about 11 last night and now it's..." I look at my watch briefly "almost 9:30 in the morning. You were already pretty much out of it when we found you so probably about 12 hours.." I say, watching his face closely to see his reaction.

He simply nods. Neither of us know what to say next. The awkward silence is broken, thankfully, when a nurse comes in to check how John is.

"Good morning, how are you?" She says cheerily. You can tell the happiness is fake because she's rushing about and clearly has bags under her eyes, so she's busy and stressed.

"I'm fine, I think..?" John says cautiously.

"That's good." The nurse says, widening her smile (if that's possible) to give reassurance. "Well, I'll see you later." She says before dashing towards the door, giving us a little nod and leaving as quickly as she came.

I turn back to John. "What happened?" I ask, testing how much he remembers.

"Before or after you were rescued?" He asks, surprising me. John sees my surprise mixed with confusion.

"You hardly remember anything, do you?" He quizzes.

"Well..." I start, feeling like an idiot, the way I used to feel when Mycroft told me I was wrong, or I'd missed something out on my work as a child.

"That's how Moriarty wanted you to be. He kept giving you this drug -he wouldn't tell me the name in case I would know how to make it less effective- that makes you forget the things that happened, occasionally getting small flashbacks to the events." John explains.

"Oh." It makes more sense now...

"Moriarty's plan all along was to let Mycroft get to you, and make you two solve a puzzle in order to find me. It was all part of his game." He adds.

There is silence for a few moments.

"Tell me everything." I say in monotone.

"Everything? From start to finish?" John cautiously asks.

"Yes." I say with determination, I want to know exactly what happened to me, to us, with Moriarty.

I help John have another drink, then he takes a big breath -wincing a little because he forgot about his broken ribs- and begins.

* * *

"Well, we were in 221B. I was making coffee and you were on the sofa, complaining about being bored for the millionth time; then your phone rang.."

I close my eyes, picturing the events in my head, memorising them all.

"...thank god, because you were about to shoot another bloody hole in the wall. Anyway, it rang and you answered."

I snap my eyes open again "I remember that." I say, thinking back to it. "The number was blocked but the caller just said 'I think I may be dying and you're the nearest person I know, please help, I'm at the end of Baker Street,' and then hung up." I say, stopping to allow John to continue.

"We both thought it was a bit suspicious, but I couldn't bear the thought of ignoring the person, so we grabbed our coats and ran out of 221B. It was sort of dark and a little foggy on the street, but nothing too bad. We began running down the street until we heard a quiet cry of help coming from the alleyway near the end of the road."

John pauses, looking over to me, but I just wait for him to continue.

"We were only about two steps into the alleyway when a man thrust a bag over your head from behind, and then over mine. Obviously, after that, I couldn't see, but I heard you struggling and then fall to the floor, then I felt a pinch in my neck and my legs gave way. We were carried for a few paces before being chucked into a van, and we both lost consciousness."

John watches my face closely.

"Do you remember any of that?" John asks cautiously.

I think for a moment, searching my mind palace. "I remember running down the street, the alleyway and the bag, but not being drugged or carried." I say finally. Then, I suddenly think of something: "Oh! I had a flashback to being in the van. It was dark and we were tied up with thick ropes and then the doors flew open and Moriarty said 'Open your eyes!'." I say quickly, pleased that I at least remember something...

"Yes, I remember that. He dragged us out of the van and into this huge abandoned industrial building. We were led down these stairs and you tried to attack one of the guards, so they took you down and knocked you out before carrying you, with me being forced to follow, into a kind of cellar."

I close my eyes and the hospital falls away from me.

J_ohn and I are being marched down a set of stairs. My hands are tied firmly with ropes but my legs are free, to allow me to walk. There are several guards around us but I decide this may be the best escape opportunity we'll get for a while, so I have to try. Quickly, I swipe at one of the guard's ankles, in the hope of sending him flying down the stairs. Unfortunately, he just about keeps his balance and pushes me to the floor. I write and struggle but his grip is strong, and I'm still weak from the drugs. "Take 'im out, will you?" He says fiercely to another guard, while pinning me against the stairs. The fist collides with my temple and the darkness takes over my body._

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" I hear John's panicked voice say.

Two men, probably doctors, are holding me down. Somehow, I've managed to send my chair across the room and am sprawled on the floor. My breaths are deep and shuddering and my heart is racing.

"I think you just had a flashback." John says cautiously, his expression and heart monitor shows that he's a little shaken.

"Yeah, I did." I say casually, shaking the men off me and getting up, dusting down my clothes as I do so. They hover near me, as if expecting me to suddenly fly into action again. I suppose in a way, it would be fun to watch myself in the flashback. I notice one of the doctors seems to be linking slightly...

Just then, Mycroft and Lestrade burst into the room. Mycroft takes in the scene and shouts "Bloody hell!" Before collapsing into a chair with and exasperated sigh.

* * *

**Thanks for reading and please review :) I'm not sure if I'll manage to update tomorrow or not, sorry...**


	15. The Tale Continues

**Sorry that I haven't updated in several days! I've been really busy and I found this chapter hard to write. I hope you think it's worth the wait... Thanks for all your support in the meantime :)**

* * *

Chapter 15: The Tale Continues

"What happened?" Lestrade asks, looking around the room cautiously. I am about to answer, but John beats me to it.

"I was telling Sherlock about our abduction when he had a flashback. At first, he was just kind of mumbling a little but then he began to thrash around and sent his chair across the room. I pressed the emergency button and these two men (John nods to the doctors) came in and held him down until he went limp." I notice that John's voice is still a little shaky.

Mycroft is leaning forward in his chair now. "So, you remember what happened when you were taken?" He asks.

"Yes. Moriarty drugged Sherlock so that he'd forget." John quickly replies.

"Continue your story then." Mycroft says after a short pause.

"Um ok..." John says, cautiously glancing at the doctors. Mycroft follows his gaze before saying to the men "Thank you for your help, we'll call you again if needs be..." With that, they leave the room, one doctor limping being the other. I glance at John and we both smirk.

"Are you ok?" John asks me once the doctors have left.

"Yeah yeah, I'm fine." I say, retrieving my chair as I do so. "I've had loads of flashbacks. This is nothing compared to the one where I had to draw lines on-" I stop suddenly, remembering the purpose of that particular flashback. If John notices, he ignores it and continues his story.

"So, we were led into this cellar-like room that was fairly dimly lit. The men dumped Sherlock onto the floor and motioned for me to sit beside him, so I did. Then, Moriarty walked in. He was in an expensive suit, like usual. He looked at us and chuckled when he saw Sherlock." John runs through the conversation:

"After a moment, he said 'Ah, was Sherlock trying to escape already? Tut tut'

I just stayed silent and glared at our captor. Sherlock must have been hit pretty hard because he was still out of it. This was when Moriarty told me about the drug.

'Now, John, a little secret between you and me. Thank you for deciding to play my game.' He smiled menacingly at us. 'From now until Sherlock is rescued, I will be giving him a drug to make him forget what I do. Once he's rescued, he'll get small flashbacks to what happened. Sherlock and his brother will have to use these in order to find you. If you tell Sherlock about this, and I will be listening, things will turn pretty nasty, so I'd stay quiet about this little conversation.'

Then, Moriarty produced a syringe from his pocket with a light coloured goo in it. He walked over to Sherlock, prised open his mouth and squirted it into the back of his throat. This, of course, brought him back to reality and he choked before trying to spit the drug out..."

Against my will, John's voice was fading as my mind took over.

_I cough and splutter, trying to remove the vile-tasting goo from my throat. "Go on, Sherlock, swallow it down like a good boy." Moriarty says gently. Immediately, I try to spit it out. Moriarty is too fast, he plants his hand over my mouth. "Swallow it." He whispers. I use all my concentration to keep from doing as my enemy says. I have to fight. I have to. Seeing that he isn't getting anywhere, Moriarty pinches my nose closed. Now, I am unable to breathe. "Swallow it, and I'll let go." He says calmly. I glare at Moriarty for several seconds until my air runs out, and I'm forced to do as he says. As soon as Moriarty lets go, I take in a huge lungful of air. I feel dizzy from the blow to my head and a little sick. Suddenly, the room around me starts to spin. I hear a door slam somewhere as Moriarty leaves, then firm hands grab my head and steady it. "It's ok, Sherlock, just lie down." John says gently, always the doctor. I allow myself to slide from my sitting position against the wall onto the hard floor. "That's it, breathe deeply, you'll be ok, we'll be ok."_

John's voice is still there when I open my eyes. "Sherlock, you're ok. You're ok." John says firmly. I look around me. John is still in his bed, Mycroft is standing nearby, as if he might have been holding him back from getting to me. Lestrade is crouched by my side and I'm pushed up against the wall. He puts his hand on my shoulder, but I flinch so he quickly removes it. "That was bloody terrifying." He says. "You're telling me." I say, trying to lighten the mood. My words fall like a heavy stone in a deep lake.

"Maybe this was a bad idea...?" Mycroft says, looking to John and then back at me.

"What happened?" Lestrade asks for the second time in the space of about 10 minutes.

"A flashback. Moriarty put some liquid, I assume the drug that John talked about, into my mouth. I tried to spit it out but he blocked my mouth and nose so that I was forced to swallow it."

"Ah, that explains why you were choking and retching then." Lestrade solemnly says. His eyes are deep and concerned. I can't hold his gaze for long.

"Maybe it's too soon to trigger the flashbacks? It might not be good for you, Sherlock." Mycroft says. I am about to protest when John says "No. He'll only have each flashback once, or possibly twice if it's really bad. Anything could trigger one, so we need to trigger them all now, while we're here."

I look at John. Moriarty has clearly told him a lot about this drug. He continues "Think, Sherlock, what happened next?"

I stare blankly at John for a second before taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, Lestrade tenses beside me.

_I try to focus on what John says, to breathe. All I can taste is the vile liquid inside me. I start retching, trying to get it out of my body. "No, Sherlock. He'll only give you more. I'm sorry." John says gently. I stop immediately and try to relax my muscles. The room is still spinning, although I'm not sure if it's from the drug or the blow to the head I had received only minutes earlier. "There's probably side effects, as with any drug." John continues. I look up into his eyes. I can't quite focus on them properly. "How do you feel, Sherlock?" He asks me, a slight edge of concern slipping into his voice, although John tries to conceal it. "Dizzy, sick and, actually, quite sleepy." I say, my mind beginning to swim. I feel like I'm floating, half in reality, half in a dream world. "Ok, just relax, Sherlock. You'll be ok. Close your eyes. We're in this together." I do as my friend says, and the dream world floods into reality, the two becoming one in my mind._

I open my eyes again and look over to John. "That was better." He says, calmer now. I simply nod. All of a sudden, my eyes feel heavy.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" Lestrade asks with evident concern.

My eyes swim around the room until they find Lestrade, in much the same place as before the flashback. "Yeah. Just tired." I say. I never get tired, I go days without sleep. But now, I just feel peaceful, as I felt in my flashback. I slump further against the wall and close my eyes again. I feel some sort of blanket being put over me, but I don't react. Vaguely, I make out the voices of Lestrade, Mycroft and John.

"Well, this is...different." Lestrade says. "You two have certainly been through a lot." He adds.

"Trust me, I didn't go through much until Sherlock and I were split and you found Sherlock. Moriarty's attention was always focussed on him. Stuff half as bad as this can affect men in the army for years..." John replies. Slowly, his voice fades away.


	16. Moriarty's Experiment

**I felt generous, so here's a second chapter for today :)**

* * *

Chapter 16: Moriarty's Experiment

_"John and Sherlock!" Moriarty almost sings as he strides into the room and flicks on the light. It takes several seconds for my eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness. I sit up, and John does so next to me._

_"Morning! I hope you had a nice sleep because today's going to be an...interesting one." He chimes._

_"Now, John, can you come and sit on this chair over here?" Moriarty says, pointing to a chair on the opposite side of the room._

_"Why?" He asks, as boldly as ever._

_"Rule one of this game: Don't ask questions, just obey." Moriarty says, not missing a beat._

_"Or what?" John asks, still not threatened, or at least not showing it..._

_"Men? Put him in the chair please." Moriarty calls. Immediately, two of the guards who brought us into the cellar the previous evening come forward, pull John onto his feet and start marching him towards the chair. I know better than to try to help him. He struggles to be released but is only held more tightly. Once forced into the chair, a mixture of thick ropes and chains are used to secure John in place._

_"Now what?" He asks fearlessly._

_"Well, Doctor Watson, you know all about drugs and medicine, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to test some drugs on Sherlock, and get you to help me keep track of what happens."_

_At this, my stomach drops. Time to get drugged up and probably suffer in some horrible way. Great._

_Moriarty turns to me. "Now, for the purpose of this experiment, I'll keep you free to move. However, if you try to escape or launch some kind of attack, John will suffer for it."_

_"Blackmail. I never really saw that as your style." I say, although what my enemy is planning to do definitely does scream Moriarty._

_"Bring me the box." Moriarty orders, without taking his eyes off me. One of his men disappears out of the room but returns within seconds with a black box in hand._

_Moriarty takes the box and places it on a table near to where John is sitting. He opens it and shows the label of one of the drugs to John before putting his finger to his lips. I try to judge what the drug will do, or how serious it will be, by John's expression. He looks worried by it, but not too badly. Moriarty must be starting lightly..._

_He turns and heads towards me, carrying two pills in his hand. They look much like paracetamol, but I doubt that they are. "You're going to have to swallow these. Let's try to avoid what happened last time I made you swallow something." He says. I am confused, what did I swallow before? My confusion must show on my face, because Moriarty smiles a little to himself. John just looks away, which further deepens my confusion._

_"Open wide." Moriarty says. I keep my mouth shut tightly. "Sherlock, you'd better do as Daddy says or I'll turn pretty nasty." He says, glancing at John._

_Knowing what will happen if I don't, I give in and open my mouth, allowing Moriarty to drop the pills in. I swallow them immediately. "Good." He says, grinning now._

_"John, what's going to happen to our friend now?" Moriarty asks, thoroughly enjoying himself._

_John swallows before saying "Sherlock, it's a light sedative. That amount is nowhere near enough to knock you out, but it will possibly make your thoughts and movements a little sluggish. Try to stay focused."_

_"He's good, isn't he?" Moriarty says, turning back to me._

_I make no reply. Already, I'm beginning to feel just a little weaker. I can't let this happen. I need my mind to stay sharp. In an attempt to stay alert, I sit up straighter, trying not to lean on the wall. Soon, though, this becomes too much and I quietly rest my back against the wall once more._

_"Interesting." Moriarty says, watching me like a hawk. "Anyway, on to the next one." He says, heading back to the table._

_"Wait, you'll overdose him if you give them in quick succession." John says, a little alarmed as he works out where this is going. I need to last as long as possible, I won't give Moriarty the satisfaction of giving in. I blink several times, desperately trying to sharpen my slightly-faded vision._

_"It's all part of the experiment." Moriarty says with a wink._

_The next drug is a liquid. Moriarty shows it to John, who immediately says "No, you can't give him that as well."_

_"No, I can't...but you can." Moriarty says, smirking now. "Untie him." The men come forward again and untie John._

_"Now, John, if you refuse, I'll just give our friend a double dose. So, be a good boy and do as Daddy says, like Sherlock. Would you like to administer it as an injection or in his mouth?" Moriarty taunts._

_"Mouth." John says through gritted teeth._

_"Ah, it'll take longer to get into his system that way. For an ordinary person, you're not bad." Moriarty says, handing John a syringe and motioning in my direction._

_John slowly walks over to me and crouches down by my side. "I'm sorry, Sherlock."_

_"There's no other way. What will it do?" I ask, trying to delay things._

_"Well... It's sort of another sedative, but this one makes your muscles go a bit funny, so you'll probably be weak. It might also affect your mental concentration, although I'm not sure on the dosage of this as it's not actually legal in the UK..."_

_"Oh, hurry up, will you?" Moriarty says, getting impatient._

_I sigh and open my mouth. With shaking hands, John squirts the liquid into my mouth and I swallow. He whispers 'sorry' over and over as I do so. The drug tastes strange. Not sweet, but not disgusting either, it just hovers in between, never settling for one side or the other._

_"Thank you, John. You can return to your seat now."_

_John complies but he isn't tied down. I suppose he'll be needed again soon..._

_After only a few minutes, I slump further against the wall. My muscles are weak and suddenly seem to ache._

_Moriarty smiles as he watches me. "Stand up."_

_"What?" I ask, even the effort of talking is a strain._

_"You heard me. Do it." He says, the smile on his face broadening._

_I put my hands to the floor and draw my legs in close to my body. Then, I take a deep breath and use all my strength to push myself up off the floor, using the wall for support. I just about manage to stand, but I don't think my legs will hold my weight for long._

_Moriarty laughs to himself at my struggle. "Stop using the wall, that's cheating."_

_I glance at John. He simply looks at me, helpless. Taking another deep breath, I take a step away from the wall. I keep my balance for a second before my legs give way beneath me. Instinctively, John rushes forwards and lowers me to the floor. "I'm sorry." He mumbles again._

_Moriarty laughs louder. "John. Tut tut. What did I tell you? Now Sherlock will have to pay."_

_"No. I'll take it." John says, standing between Moriarty and me defensively. I now barely have the strength to remain sitting up._

_"Don't argue, just obey." He repeats what he said earlier._

_Solemnly, John walks back over to the chair and sits down. Moriarty begins to rummage through the box, clearly looking for something extra special._

_I slowly use the last of my strength to shuffle back to the wall and lean heavily against it._

_"Ah!" Moriarty exclaims, producing a small needle containing a clear liquid. "This...is perfect."_


	17. This Can't Continue

Chapter 17: This can't continue

_He shows John the name of the drug._

_"No. No, you can't. Please. It could kill him, especially mixed with all the other drugs." John begs, terror filling his voice._

_"Oh, I'm not so sure. Sherlock's strong and rather resilient. Most people wouldn't even be able to sit up against a wall like that by now." Moriarty taunts, looking over at me as he speaks._

_"You're crazy! What if he dies, that'll ruin your game." John says desperately._

_Moriarty thinks for a moment. "Yes, it would be a shame to end the fun so soon. Tell you what, we'll just give him half of this dose." He decides, fishing a smaller needle out of the box and handing it to John, who takes the drug reluctantly._

_"No." John says firmly._

_With this, Moriarty holds the larger needle out to one of his men who takes it and heads towards me._

_"John." I say. I'm not even sure if it's coherent._

_"Ok ok stop." John says, finally defeated._

_A smile spreads across Moriarty's face once more as John walks towards me again and crouches down at my side. He gently unbuttons my sleeve and rolls it up, exposing my bare, pale arm. Then, he looks me dead in the eyes and says "Don't leave me here alone. Keep your eyes open for as long as possible. Stay awake. Stay with me."_

_John moves the needle towards my arm but stops as Moriarty suddenly exclaims "Oh, we forgot this." John whips around and looks at the syringe in our torturer's hand, filled with yellow goo. John seems to recognise it and know what it is. I feel as if I should, but I don't._

_Moriarty walks swiftly over to us, kneels down and forces the tip of the syringe between my lips, pressing hard on the plunger. The vile liquid jets into my mouth. Before I can react, Moriarty's hand is over my mouth and his fingers pinch my nose. I swallow. The taste and texture make me feel sick. "Good." He says, standing up again. "Your turn, John."_

_"Remember, Sherlock, don't leave me here alone." John says as I feel the pinch in my arm. Once the needle is empty, John tosses it away from us and rolls down my sleeve again. "Stay awake, Sherlock, stay awake."_

_At first, nothing is different. I'm still weak and slightly foggy, but I don't feel too bad. Then, I start to slide further down the wall, eventually ending up on the floor. "Stay awake, please." John repeats. I want to do just the opposite, but I resist. He feels my wrist for my pulse. Horror fills his eyes. "It's weak already, too weak. How could you do this, Moriarty?"_

_"It wasn't me, John, it was you."_

_John and Moriarty's eyes remain fixed on mine. I glance between them wearily, suddenly finding I can't remember how I ended up like this. Why are they watching me?_

_Slowly, my breaths become more laboured. Each intake of air a little harder than the last. Is this what dying feels like? If so, I decide I quite like it. My mind is peaceful and I can't feel anything. No pain, no fear, nothing._

_My breathing is now extremely slow, only just enough to sustain my body. It is not worth keeping my eyes open, as I see nothing. I can't remember why I was trying to keep them open anyway, so I close them. It's even calmer now, even more peaceful._

_Somewhere in some distant void, I hear a voice saying "Sherlock, no. Open your eyes. Breathe. Sherlock? Sherlock!" The voice sounds familiar. It's quite comforting, really. It sounds sort of alarmed, but I can't see why. Everything is calm and quiet and safe._

_All I have to do is drift away, and I'll never come back. I can stay like this forever, floating freely. I am content. I've never felt like this before. Now, I don't think I want to be any other way._

Suddenly, the world becomes loud and bright and bold. I crash to the ground, awakening from the dream world. The shock of it sends waves of terror through my body. I desperately try to fill my lungs with air, but nothing seems to happen. Panicked, I struggle and thrash, but weight pins me into the hard floor below me. Still no air. I gasp, straining to feel something in my lungs. My hands dig into something as I cling onto my existence. Somewhere above me, I hear a scream of pain.

Something is forced into my mouth. I try to spit it out but it's deep in my throat now. Then, I feel a gush of air burst into my lungs. My whole body feels dizzy with the sensation. I release my vice-like grip on whatever I was holding and my body relaxes just a little. The weight is still on me, but a little less firmly. I keep my eyes squeezed shut, too terrified to open them and see what has happened. I have no idea how long I spend lying there, relishing in the feeling of air in my lungs, of oxygen in my blood.

Slowly, though, I start to become more aware of my surroundings. The voices above me seem to float around in the air. They all sound different, but my brain can't seem to separate them.

"He's breathing again. Keep holding him. He's gone really limp now. Bloody hell. Are you ok? How long was that? Do you think he's alright?"

Then, I manage to make out one voice from the rest. A steady, familiar voice. "It's ok, Sherlock. You made it. Just stay exactly as you are, and open your eyes."

I want to open my eyes, as the voice tells me, but something inside me is forcing them to remain closed. I clench my hands into tight fists and then open them, extending my right hand out across the floor, looking for something to hold. My fingers find a piece of thick material and hold onto it. The material feels familiar. I search my brain, eventually finding it's name. Wool. A wooly jumper, like John's.

John. Suddenly, my eyes snap open. All I see is bright, white light. Where's John? I panic yet again, thrusting my body away from whatever is holding me down. This achieves nothing but a tighter grip and a huge commotion.

"Easy, Sherlock. It's ok. We're here. Stay still, breathe."

Slowly, patches of brown and red and blue begin to appear in the white. I blink up at them, desperately trying to make the images clearer.

"That's it, Sherlock. It's ok. You're safe, just stay still."

That's what I do. I lie as I am, pinned to the floor, which I'm just noticing feels rather cold. Air is still being forced into my lungs. The rhythm is steady and reassuring.

The room eventually comes into focus. People stare down at me, dozens of eyes looking into mine. Too many eyes. Too many.

"Too many." I cough out shakily.

"What did he say?" A strange voice asks.

"Too many." A familiar voice repeats for me. "Too many people, too many eyes.". They can read my thoughts, see inside my mind. It must be Mycroft. I hear shuffling as some of the people move backwards, out of my direct line of sight.

"Sherlock, look at me." I look in the direction of the sound. John's large blue eyes look back into mine. I'm still holding the edge of his jumper. "Can you breathe on your own now?" He asks me cautiously.

"I think so." I cough out, although the only audible word is 'think'. I choke a little as the tube is removed, but continue to breathe fairly steadily.

I shiver a little as the cold of the floor seeps through my thin shirt. "We need to get him off the floor." Someone says behind me. John looks up at them and nods before looking back to me. "We're going to lift you now so-" he starts, but Mycroft interrupts. "Lifting him set off a flashback before." There are a few concerned murmurs. These are heightened when I visibly shudder at the memory of it.

"They only happen once." John says thoughtfully.

"You said once or twice. I don't think it's worth the risk. We had to knock Sherlock out after that flashback." Mycroft says, realising John wasn't present at that point. Lestrade nods in agreement. "We can't risk it." He confirms.

"He can't stay on the floor." John points out.

"I'll get up." I say shakily, my speech far better with the tube removed.

"I'm not sure if that's such a good idea..." Mycroft says more than a little cautiously.

"It's the only choice we have." John says, not taking his gaze off of me.

Mycroft considers it for a second before nodding. "Let him go then.".

The weight is removed from my back and at least three people stand up. How many people had to hold me down? Judging by the number of people crammed into the room, it was a lot.

I slowly release my grip of John's jumper and use my hands to push myself into a sitting position. The movement sends my head spinning and I close my eyes for a moment.

"Just take it slowly, Sherlock." John says gently.

After several minutes, I reach out my arms. John and Lestrade instinctively grab them and haul me up onto my feet. Most of my weight is now being held up by John and Lestrade. It is only a couple of paces to the bed, but I'm forced to move incredibly slowly. Once I reach the bed, I sit down on it and look up with confusion at John's contorted face, then I remember "John, you've got broken ribs." I say.

"I know, but don't worry about me." John says, sitting down on the bed too.

"What happened?" I ask.

"That's what I was about to ask you."

We exchange an exhausted smile.


	18. The Next Step

Chapter 18: The Next Step

"Well" John begins "After your last flashback, you fell asleep against that wall on the floor. For a couple of hours, you were fine. You slept soundly and seemed alright. Then, you just started mumbling to yourself. You started to get louder and louder and then you were trying to stand up in your sleep. Thank god Mycroft was still here and managed to push you back onto the floor. I pressed my emergency button, again, and then managed to throw myself out of the bed and get down beside you."

He pauses, making sure that this isn't triggering anything more...

"Anyway, a load of nurses and doctors came in just in time as you began thrashing and fighting. You kept mumbling 'don't be sorry' over and over. I tried to snap you out of it but there was nothing we could do. Then, you started choking and retching like you did before and suddenly went completely still. Your breathing became slower and slower-"

John glances up at Mycroft, who gives a slight nod, watching me intently.

"And?" I ask.

"Your breathing became slower and slower and then it stopped altogether. Of course, everyone panicked then, but for some reason, it seemed to bring you back into the real world. You started gasping for air and thrashing and grabbing and generally causing chaos on all levels until we managed to shove that oxygen tube down your throat. Even then, it was a struggle because you tried to spit it out at first, before you kind of went limp..." There is a pause as I take in what happened. "Can you tell me what your flashback was of?" John asks cautiously.

I nod and take in a deep breath. After all, John went through it too, I don't know what affect the little 'drugging incident' had on him.

"It was the second day, I think. Moriarty decided to test some drugs on me, and used you to help out..." I say quietly.

John's face says it all. The pain he went through, the horror of what he was forced to do to me. "That?" He asks, just to be certain.

"Yes." I say in almost a whisper.

"What was it, Sherlock?" Mycroft asks.

"Get all these people to leave, and I'll explain."

Mycroft turns to all the slightly flustered people in the room. "Thank you for your service. I think we'll be alright from here." They take the hint and file out of the room.

"Exactly how many people were needed to hold me still?" I ask one they've left.

"At one point, 8." My brother replies.

Mycroft and Lestrade pull up chairs to the bed, so we're in a sort of circle.

"Moriarty wanted to test out some drugs on me on the second day." I begin once everyone is ready. "At first, it was just some pills that made me a little drowsy, but nothing too bad."

"It was a sedative used in theatre, but only enough to knock out a cat." John adds.

I continue "Almost immediately, Moriarty forced John to give me another, far stronger drug."

"It's not even legal in the UK because of the adverse affects it has on muscle coordination and movement." John explains. "Moriarty then made Sherlock get up and walk around the room, hence why he tried to do it earlier. I had to catch him after a couple of steps because Sherlock's legs gave way, but Moriarty punished Sherlock because I helped him."

I nod solemnly. "First, he gave me another dose of the drug that made me forget everything and then have all these flashbacks. By this point, I couldn't resist because the drugs had made me so weak."

John takes over. "Moriarty forced me to inject Sherlock with a drug that was enough to fully sedate him on it's own, without all the other drugs."

"So you're saying you expected Sherlock to die?" Mycroft asks almost protectively.

"Mycroft, he had no choice. If he had refused, Moriarty would've given me double the dose John did, and that would have killed me almost instantly." I say in defence of John.

"Anyway, I injected Sherlock and begged him to stay awake and keep his eyes open. At first, he was fine but then the drug took full effect. He was way out of it after only about 5 minutes."

"Because of the drug that made me forget things, I forgot why John and Moriarty were there. Then, I forgot the reason I was trying to keep my eyes open. It was just all calm and quiet and peaceful." I say thoughtfully.

"Right from the moment I injected him, I knew his pulse wasn't fast enough. I didn't realise how slow it was until I compared it with my own as I didn't have a watch. Then, it just started getting slower and slower and his breathing was lighter and lighter. I tried shouting at him and slapping him, but there was nothing I could do. I even searched through Moriarty's drug box for a reversal, but all that achieved was Moriarty injecting me with something too. It made me dizzy but I forced my eyes open so that I could watch Sherlock. He was out for almost 24 hours. At one point, I thought Sherlock was in a coma because of the signs he was showing-" John's voice cracks. "You almost died, Sherlock. I almost killed you."

"You did what you had to, John. And hey, Sherlock lived." Lestrade says, trying to comfort John.

"Yeah, god knows how." John mumbles.

After several minutes, John calms down again. "Sherlock, you look tired."

I don't reply. John's right, I'm exhausted, but I don't want to close my eyes again.

I must make my thoughts pretty obvious, because Mycroft quickly says "We can bring another bed in here, and I'll stay all night."

I feel weak. I don't agree or disagree, but another bed is brought in and I get into it.

Mycroft sits in a chair next to my bed but doesn't watch me.

Cautiously, I close my eyes. For the first time in over a week, I sleep peacefully, my sleep uninterrupted in any way.


	19. Heading Home

Chapter 19: Heading Home

Over the next few days, John becomes stronger and more mobile again. I have dozens of flashbacks, some only a few seconds long, some a few minutes, but none of them are serious. After three further days, John is released from hospital.

It is decided that we shall both return home to Baker Street, although I know it will be hard for John to do so.

I agree that Lestrade should escort us home in case something happens on the way. Mrs Hudson is also temporarily being given full access to the flat, so that she can check up on us more easily. I agree to all these terms, but I refuse to be driven home.

"I want to walk. I haven't seen air in days, or new people to deduce apart from doctors." I say firmly.

"It's a good 20 minute walk from here, Sherlock, I'm not so sure if either of you are up to that."

I look at John, pleading with him using my eyes.

"We'll be fine, I need some air and exercise anyway." John says after a moment's deliberation.

"Fine." Lestrade says gruffly. I'm glad Mycroft has already whizzed off to some top secret meeting, because he would have refused to let us walk point blank.

We head off at a reasonable pace, deciding to take the route that goes through a large park. I scan the crowds of people with my eyes.

'In huge debt, bailiffs coming to their house soon, owns three cats, one of them is white, has a new baby, having an affair...'

Each person is different, with a story to tell.

Once we reach the park, the crowd becomes smaller and more spaced out. We're nearly at the other end of the park when John says "I think I need a rest."

We divert our route to the nearest bench and sit on it, I am in between John and Lestrade. Now I come to think of it, the walk has been quite tiring. I'm not used to the exercise or the amount of deductions. The warm sun is shining onto my skin, making me feel warm inside. Stupidly, I close my eyes.

_I'm sitting on some kind of bench between two of Moriarty's guards. I try to break away from them but they just shove me back onto the bench, causing my head to collide with the wall behind us. The pain of it pulses through me, filling me with a new anger._

_John is tied to a chair. He is facing me but blindfolded. Moriarty stands between us. "Now now, Sherlock, you just sit nice and still for a minute. It's not your turn...yet." He says, smiling widely, showing perfect white teeth, like a shark._

_Then, he turns to John and produces a needle from his pocket. Without warning, Moriarty plunges it into John's neck. He tries to wrench himself away but the ropes hold him securely._

_Within minutes, John's head droops as the drug consumes him. Moriarty removes the blindfold._

_"John's going to have a nice surprise when he wakes up."_

_I can't contain my anger any longer. I force my fist into the first guard's temple and wind the other, punching him just below the ribs. Both release their grip and I lunge for Moriarty._

_Seemingly unfazed, he simply forces a needle into my neck. Within seconds, my balance fails me and I fall to the ground. My muscles refuse to obey my brain, and I start squirming on the floor._

_Moriarty watches my plight with amusement._

_"Oh Sherlock, it looks like I've defeated you this time." He chimes._

_His comment causes a surge or anger and adrenaline to rush through my body. I somehow manage to force myself up off the floor and lunge again for Moriarty. I grab him by the collar of his blazer, a desperate and crazed attempt to strangle him. However, I'm far too weak to achieve much._

_Suddenly, one of the guards tackles me from behind. Already weak, I drop to the floor like a stone under the weight of the much larger man. He lands on top of me, knocking the air out of my lungs. I gasp and scream as a sharp blade is drawn along my side._

_The man refuses to get off me. I try to claw him with my hands and kick him with my legs, but my efforts are in vain._

_Above me, Moriarty chuckles. I stop fighting and look up at him, all of my energy seeping away. "Yes, John certainly will have a surprise when he wakes up, but you won't be able to see his face."_

_I gasp and struggle for air under the weight of the guard. The more I fight against him, the more painful the wound to my side becomes._

_For a second, I pretend to go limp, evening closing my eyes. The weight lightens a little and I take my chance, forcing my body out from under the guard._

_I only make it a metre or so before the guard lands on top of me again. As I gasp to intake air, Moriarty squirts a vile tasting yellow goo into my mouth. I cough and splutter, choking as the liquid surges down my throat. My lungs are now screaming for air, but I cannot get enough._

_"Goodnight, Sherlock." Moriarty says. I look up into his deep brown eyes, distracting me from the mask in the guard's hands. I only realise what is happening as it covers my face, the smell of it is rubbery._

_Desperately, I try to rip the mask off my face, but a firm hand holds it on securely. I am unable to hold my breath as I am starved of oxygen, so I'm forced to breathe in whatever substance is being pumped into the mask._

_After only a matter of seconds, my eyelids droop and my body goes limp._

"Oh Sherlock, oh no. Sherlock, we've been through this, come on." "Get that camera away from here!" "Make sure you're not crushing his lungs or diaphragm." "Sherlock? Please, wake up." "You've done this before, Sherlock. Come on, come on."

Voices swirl around in my head. Not this again, it can't be. It can't it can't it can't. No. Moriarty's guards are holding me down again. I must break free.

I writhe and squirm and struggle, a desperate attempt to break away from the grasps.

Above me, there are screams and shouts. The harder I try to escape, the more firmly I am pinned.

"Sherlock, it's me, it's John. We're in the park. It's ok." I hear the voice, but it doesn't reach my brain. All I can think about is escape, escaping the grasps of Moriarty. Still, I struggle, gasping for air, pulling and ripping at whatever I can get hold of. I twist and turn, trying to wrench myself free.

I have no idea how long it is until I run out of energy, giving in to my fate of pain and suffering. Voices continue to float above my head, but I ignore them.


	20. It's ok, Sherlock

Chapter 20: It's ok, Sherlock.

I lie still, waiting for the sharp sting of a knife, the gentle fading feeling of a drug, or the cruel blow of a bat. I breathe heavily, waiting. Nothing. There is no attack, but I remain pinned.

Eventually, I begin to take in my surroundings again. Below me, the floor is not hard and cold. It is firm but a little squashy, it feels vaguely moist. The air is not musty and heavy, but light and fresh. The more I listen to the voices above me, the more overwhelming they become.

"He must be deranged or something." "I said, get the camera away." "He seems to have given up now."

I can't split the voices up, there's too many of them. Suddenly, a shout causes me to jump. "Shut up and move away. Leave us to deal with this. Go on, move, or you'll be arrested!"

Finally, I get some quiet. Now, only one voice can be heard. "It's ok, Sherlock. You're alright, just like last time. Speak to me, Sherlock, so I know you're ok, that you're listening."

The voice doesn't ask me to open my eyes, thankfully. Clearly, what I would see if I did would cause more terror. I don't think I can open my eyes just yet anyway.

I put my palm against the floor. My sensitive skin is gently tickled. "Grass." I say.

"Oh Sherlock. Yes, you're lying on the grass in the sun." The voice says, filling with relief. "Keep talking. Tell me anything, Sherlock, just keep talking to me."

I clench my hand into a fist and pull some of the grass out of the soil. "Grass." I repeat quietly. "Lots and lots of grass." I say. It's such a childish thing to say, but it's comforting.

I want to roll onto my front, so I can breathe in the earthy smell. I start to move, but hands hold me down. "No." I say, beginning to feel trapped again. "No. Get off, leave." I say, my breathing becoming uneasy.

"They're keeping you safe, Sherlock. It's for your own good."

"No." I say, starting to struggle against the pressure.

"Sherlock, easy. What do you want to do?"

"Roll."

The pressure releases a little, allowing me to roll onto my front. I breathe in the thick smell of soil and earth and sun. I calm myself, lying there on the ground, breathing.

* * *

The earth starts to pound beneath me. There are footsteps approaching. Instinctively, I curl into a protective ball, waiting for the attack to begin.

It doesn't. I stay curled in a ball as the voices swirl above me.

"Mycroft, thank god you're here."

"Move away please, unless you want the British security service to make you move."

"John, why the bloody hell did you walk home?! This is exactly why I have security cameras trained on your every move. Every single time..."

"I'm sorry, Mycorft, but-"

"Has he responded to you?"

"Yes, I know he can hear us because he spoke when I asked him to, but he only did when there was only one voice."

One of the voices becomes louder, someone must have crouched down towards me.

"Hello brother dear, I see you've caused rather a commotion."

At the sound of such a familiar voice, I uncurl a little. The pressure is still on me, but it doesn't restrict my movement entirely.

The voice becomes quieter again, so the person is standing up now.

"What do we do next, John?"

"I don't know. He can't open his eyes in this, it wouldn't be good."

"I agree."

The voice becomes louder again, different to the first, so not Mycroft.

"It's ok Sherlock, you're alright. Just lie there with your eyes closed and speak to me."

"Flashback. John was tied to a chair."

"I was tied to a chair?"

Ah, the voice is John's. Feeling safer, I uncurl again and resume my position face down on the grass. I don't reply, I don't see the point.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, what happened?"

I ignore the voices and block them out after this. The sun is still shining onto my skin and clothes. All I do is lie there and breathe. The smell of the grass mixes with other smells, but I don't bother to identify them.

Eventually, someone taps me lightly on the shoulder, breaking me out of my daze. I flinch at the contact and instinctively open my eyes.

"No Sherlock. Just close your eyes again and talk to me."

At first, I have to squint in the bright sunlight. As my eyes adjust, I make out several pairs of shoes directly in front of me. I manage to peer round them and see a huge crowd of people being held back by police. There must be over a hundred. Then, something blocks my view. Everything is dark again as something goes over my eyes. I begin to panic again.

"Sherlock, I'm here. We're here to help you. Don't worry, we'll get you away from here soon."

The voice calms me a little, but my heart rate and breathing remain heightened.

"We need to get him away from these people."

"How? He can't just get up this time."

"We'll have to risk carrying him."

The voices become muffled after this. I brace myself for being lifted, tensing my muscles. After several minutes, hands slide under my body. Some also grip my wrists, ankles and shoulders.

"We're going to lift you up now Sherlock. I need you to focus. You're going to talk to me all the way, ok? You have to keep talking."

"John." I say, not being able to think of anything else.

"Yes, it's me. Are you ready?"

"Don't count down, just lift." I say.

The hands tighten their grip, and the floor falls away from me.

"Sherlock, where were we going?"

I think for a moment. "Home. 221B."

"Who were you with?"

"You...and...and Lestrade." I say eventually.

"You're doing well, Sherlock."

"How much longer?" I ask. All I want to do is open my eyes and breathe in the air.

"Not too long. We're taking you to an ambulance, out of sight of all these people."

"No, not hospital. Home." I say, starting to struggle in the grip of the people.

"It's ok, Sherlock. Stay still. We're not taking you to the hospital, just to the ambulance."

For the rest of the time, I block out the voices and lie in silence.

Eventually, I am placed down onto somewhere soft, a bed.

The cloth is removed, allowing me to see again. I am lying in an ambulance, with John at my side and a nurse next to him. Mycroft is standing in the corner. The doors are shut to keep out prying eyes.

"What happened, Sherlock?"

I sigh, I'm bored of this question by now. "A flashback. You were tied to a chair and Moriarty drugged you. I lunged for him but he drugged me too. I kept fighting but guards held me down and put a mask over my face to knock me out."

"Did the guard cut you?" John asks.

"Yes, down my side." I say, self consciously feeling the scar as I do so.

"Ah, I remember. I woke up and you were lying on the floor, your shirt coated in blood on one side."

"Why did you keep struggling on the ground?" John inquires after a minute.

"I thought it was Moriarty so I tried to escape." I say simply. "What happened to draw such a crowd?"

John and Mycroft exchange a look before John answers. "We were sitting on the bench when you started mumbling, like you usually do when a flashback is starting. We tried to snap you out of it but we couldn't. You eyes were open but you didn't seem to see or hear us. Then, without warning, you leapt off the bench at a passing stranger and started throttling him. It took both me and Lestrade to prise you off him and pull you to the floor. By then, other people had gathered. Some helped the man you half choked, others held you down, but the rest just watched. We tried to scatter them but it was no use. They were fascinated as you struggled and convulsed on the floor. Lestrade managed to get some cops over to keep the people away because you weren't responding."

John looks at me carefully. "Sherlock, are you ready to go home?" He asks gently.

"Why wouldn't I be?" I ask.

"Well, you're still having a lot of flashbacks..."

"And I'll have them wherever I am, so I'd rather be at home, away from everyone."

"Ok, do you think you can stand up?"

I slowly sit up and then swing my legs off the bed. Then, I push up off the bed and stand, gently resting my hand on the side of the ambulance. Tentatively, I take a few steps. Although I'm a little shaky, I feel fine, so we decide to continue.

* * *

**Thanks for following, favouriting, reviewing or even just reading this far :) I'm really sorry but there won't be an update tomorrow, so you'll have to wait until Saturday...**


	21. It's ok, John

Chapter 21: It's ok, John.

After a couple of minutes of walking, I feel back to normal again. John and I are now walking alone as Lestrade had to stay behind to deal with the fall-out of the chaos I had caused. I'm sure that in the future, John and I will look back on these flashbacks and laugh, maybe.

As we get nearer to Baker Street, I notice John is slowing his pace a little. At first, I think he must be getting tired again, but then I realise why he's so reluctant: he was held in 221c for a week, and I've never asked him anything about it. I have no idea what horrors he faced there alone.

"Are you ok?" I cautiously ask.

"Oh, you know...fine." John says with equal caution.

We fall into silence as we round the corner onto Baker Street.

The street seems to last forever as I try to think of some way to lighten the mood.

Eventually, we reach the door to 221B. Suddenly, it looks too dark and too tall. I remember delving through it in my desperation to find John.

Realising John isn't going to, I fumble for my key in my pocket and unlock the door. Pushing it open carefully, I half expect one of Moriarty's men to be here.

There is no sign of anyone. Mrs Hudson won't be back until tomorrow morning. For now, we are alone.

I step inside the door and remove my coat, tossing it over the end of the banister in my usual fashion. Looking back to the door, I notice John is still standing on the stairs outside.

"Come on, John." I say, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"Sherlock, I...I don't think I can." John stutters, gripping the rail next to the the steps, his knuckle turning white.

I walk back to the door where John is.

"It's ok, John, nobody's here. Moriarty's long gone by now. The flat is empty." I say, turning as I do so and holding out my hand to emphasise my point.

"I know it's empty, it's just...I just...I can't." John says, his face drained of colour, causing his terrified blue eyes to stand out even more.

"John, just go one step at a time. Come right up to the door." I gently coax, realising this is going to be harder than I thought.

John's feet shuffle up to the door, but he doesn't touch the boundary, as if doing so would spark some terrible occurrence.

"There you go. Now, put one foot through the door, then the other." I coax again.

John grips the doorframe hard as he steps inside. I want to close the door so that nobody can pry, but John is currently standing in the way, and I don't want to make him feel trapped.

I want to ask about his time here, but I don't want to make John think about it more. Damn it, what else is he thinking about at the moment? "Did you walk in before, or were you carried?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

John looks me dead in the eyes, and I see his fear. Not just the fear someone has about a spider or something, but genuine terror. "M...Moriarty told me that urm, if I didn't walk up to the door, unlock it and casually walk in, he would break straight into the hospital and stab you through the heart." John shakily says, closing his eyes and swaying slightly. I need to get him upstairs and sit him down.

"John." I say "I'm going to close the door, so can you step a little further inside?"

Tentatively, John shuffles his feet a little further into the flat, allowing me to shut the door softly behind him.

I turn back to John and follow his gaze to the door of 221c. "It's ok, John, he's not here." I say, before lightly pressing his arm in order to direct him to the stairs.

Thankfully, John allows me to guide him up the stairs and into our flat. It feels so familiar, left just as it was the morning we left in such a hurry, coffee mugs still on the table.

I slowly guide John to his chair and motion for him to sit down, he does. I look at him. His eyes are dim and almost glass-like, his skin is pale and his gaze darts around the room nervously, checking for intruders. I know Mycroft will have put cameras up around the flat to watch our every move, and make him able to dart into action if I have another flashback.

"I'll make some tea." I say, not waiting for John's reply, I head to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, I bring the steaming cups into the room, set them down on a small table and sit in my chair.

I look into John's eyes. "Tell me what happened to you here, John." I say.

He closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths, opens his eyes again, looks at me, and begins his story.


	22. The Long Week Alone

Chapter 22: The Long Week Alone

"I had to watch as you were cut, when Moriarty carved the map into your back. I really thought you were going to die before Mycroft would find you. There was so much blood. I couldn't say anything though, because Moriarty had threatened me, so I was helpless. Once Moriarty had finished, he led me away from you. I managed to tell you to stay awake, but I don't know whether you heard."

Of course, John doesn't know I had a flashback to this. "I did." I say, watching John's face carefully. "That's how we found you, we triggered my flashback to Moriarty drawing the map, so that I could recreate it on paper. My flashback went on longer than expected, lasting right up until Mycroft and Lestrade found me."

John nods slowly before continuing. "Anyway, I looked at you for what I thought would be the last time, lying there in a growing pool of blood. Then, Moriarty led me away down a vast number of passages, alleys and other dark places. I thought about trying to get back to you, but he assured me that guards were watching us, so I wouldn't have a chance..."

As John continues to describe what happens, I close my eyes and imagine it.

_"Come on, John." Moriarty stays, leading him round yet another dark corner into another dark alley._

_"Where are we going?" John asks cautiously._

_"Well, it's somewhere...very close to home." Moriarty says with a smirk, his white teeth glinting in the dim light._

_Eventually, Moriarty leads John into a room that is equally as dark, if not darker, than the alleyways. Moriarty releases his grip of John and walks too the other side of the room. He flicks a switch and light floods the walls, ceiling and floor. John has to squint in the bright light at first, but his eyes slowly adjust._

_"I recognise this place." He says, glancing around the room._

_"You should." Moriarty says, following John's gaze perfectly._

_There is silence as John continues to look around, taking in the trapdoor they entered through and the stairway leading to hopeful safety. He creases his forehead as he looks at the floor, before suddenly saying "We're in 221c."_

_"Good." Moriarty says, smiling now._

_"Where you put that boy's shoes that you killed."_

_"Carl Powers. Yes, very good." Moriarty says slowly._

_"So, what now?" John asks fearlessly. He casts his mind back to the image of me, lying in my own crimson blood._

_"Well, you're probably quite tired, so..."_

_"So you're going to drug me with something?" John asks with a slight sigh._

_"No, that would be boring. I'll drug you soon, but not quite yet." Moriarty says, turning away from John and walking over to a concealed cabinet in the wall. He opens it and removes a knife. It has a long, thin blade._

_"No." He repeats "First, I want answers."_

_John finds himself slowly backing towards the wall as Moriarty approaches him. The ropes still bond his wrists, but his legs are free._

_"Answers for what?" John asks, trying to conceal his fear. Until now, I had taken most of the beatings and pain, but now it was just John and Moriarty, John knows things will be different._

_Without warning, Moriarty reaches out and pushes John back the last foot against the wall. His hand remains on John's chest, pinning him in place as he struggles under the surprising strength of Moriarty._

_"There now, John, no need to be afraid. As long as you answer my questions, no harm will come to you."_

_"What questions?" John asks through gritted teeth._

_"Do you know anything about Mycroft's work?"_

_"No."_

_The blade slides lightly across John's cheek, causing a little blood to trickle down his face into his lips._

_"Incorrect. You visit him rather a lot to know nothing, and he visits you and Sherlock from time to time as well. Let me ask again. Do you know anything about Mycroft's work?"_

_"He's practically the British government, he runs the security service, too secret the describe, even to Sherlock." John says, the taste of metal on his tongue._

_"Now we're getting somewhere." Moriarty says keenly. "What about the case Mycroft contacted you about the day before I kidnapped you?"_

_John thinks back to his hushed phone call with Mycroft, and then him and Sherlock dashing off to see Mycroft. He remembers what Mycroft said: 'This case must not be heard about by anyone, it must remain highly secret, what her the situation.'_

_"What case?" John asks, feigning confusion._

_Moriarty unbuttons John's shirt, exposing his chest, before drawing a deeper line across it with the blade. John clenches his jaw to keep from crying out._

_"Tell me why you and Sherlock went to Mycroft's house."_

_John stays silent, preparing for the pain. Indeed, Moriarty draws two more lines across his chest. This time, John is forced to let out a small cry._

_"This is your final chance. What did Mycroft tell you?"_

_"Nothing." John says, bracing himself._

_The blade takes a deep and jagged path down John's right side. Desperately, he tries to pull away from it pain, crying out as he does so._

_Somehow, he ends up on the the floor, still pushed against the wall by Moriarty's firm hand. John takes deep breaths, trying to steady his heart beat._

_"Easy, John. Still got some fight in you, but not a lot." Moriarty says, waving the blade around in the air._

_John can feel the blood as it flows from the cut. It's not as bad as the injuries I had sustained, but it was still losing a lot of blood._

_"Right, seeing as you're not going to cooperate, I'll try again tomorrow." Moriarty says quietly. Then, he produces a needle from his pocket and plunges it into John's arm._

_The affects are almost immediate. John's breathing slows and he slumps further against the wall. After only a minute, his eyes fall closed and Moriarty removes his hand, leaving John to sleep._

I open my eyes as John's story tails off. He looks pale and shaky. I have no idea what to do, or what to say.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there, John."

"I'm glad you weren't."

We sit in silence for several more minutes. Watching, waiting, thinking.

"You're safe now. You're safe here. We're safe." I say, a feeble attempt to convince both of us of this evident lie.

"Moriarty is still at large." John points out.

"For now, yes."

With this, I make another cup of tea. John and I don't sleep that night. We both remain in our chairs, thinking in silence.


	23. 23: Welcome Back

Chapter 23: Welcome Back

We spend the next day wondering mindlessly about the flat, knapping, blogging and playing the violin. Well, I play while John listens. Mrs Hudson is supposed to return about lunchtime, but she calls mid morning to says that she's running late, and won't be home until after dark.

As evening falls, John makes cheese on toast and we sit silently eating. Neither of us are hungry, but we eat to make the other feel better.

At about 9, we hear a noise downstairs.

"Mrs Hudson must be home." I say.

"Should we go down and see her?" John asks wearily.

"She'll be up soon enough." I say, reaching for my violin, before changing my mind and returning to silence once more.

John looks edgy, he's looking around the room and glancing at the door continuously.

"John, are you ok?" I ask carefully.

"Yeah yeah, I'm fine. Fine." He says, evidently he isn't...

"What is it, John?"

"After you found me, what happened to 221c?"

"I don't know, we all left to make sure you were alright."

"You mean the trapdoor is still open?!" John asks, fear filling him.

"Calm down, I'm sure the police aren't that stupid."

There is another noise from downstairs, and John jumps.

"It's just Mrs Hudson." I say, trying to reassure him.

"I know, it's just...wouldn't she have at least shouted up the stairs or something?" John says quietly, sitting up just a little straighter in his chair.

As if to answer his question, the stairs make their familiar creaks as Mrs Hudson ascends them. Even so, John tenses his muscles, ready for action. I remain leaning back in my chair casually.

The door swings open. "Hello boys!"

It's not Mrs Hudson.

Immediately, we are both on our feet. I stare at Moriarty, his brown eyes stare back into mine. His hands are in his pockets, but I have no idea what he's got in them.

John and I take a small step back as Moriarty takes a step forwards.

"Hello, Jim." I say, backing slowly towards the drawer in the desk that contains John's pistol.

"I thought I'd give you a nice little surprise. Also, we have unfinished business." He says with a wry smile.

"What business?" John asks, purposefully taking Moriarty's attention away from me. I'm almost at the desk now.

"You never told me what you talked about with Mycroft."

"And I never will." John says fearlessly.

"Oh really?" Moriarty says, producing a surprisingly long knife from his pocket.

John sighs dramatically. "You tried that for a week but I didn't talk."

"Oh no, John, I'm not going to ask you. I'm going to cut you, and Sherlock's going to tell me everything.

"No." John says fiercely. My hand is on the drawer now, all I have to do is open it and...

"Sherlock, move away from that desk or I'll shoot John." Moriarty says, holding a gun towards John with his free hand.

I instantly move away from it, but not too far.

Moriarty turns the gun to me. "John, go and lock the door."

John obliges quickly. Even though I hate to say it, Moriarty is carrying this out very well...

"Good. Now go and sit against the wall, John." Moriarty orders, not looking round.

John does so. Moriarty walks towards John and points the gun at him instead. He also holds the knife out near to his throat.

"If you move a millimetre from that spot, Sherlock, John will die." He says calmly.

I nod in response, my feet rooted to the floor.

"Now, tell me about Mycroft."

"Don't, Sherlock." John says.

Moriarty raises his eyebrows at me. I say nothing.

The knife runs along John's cheek. It must be light as there is only a little blood. It's just a warning, a threat.

"Tell me about Mycroft." Moriarty says a little more firmly.

I remain silent.

The knife runs along John's jawline, he intakes breath sharply.

For a moment, I glance around the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the book shelf. Ah! Why didn't I think of this before? Mycroft has cameras rigged all around the flat to monitor my recovery. All I have to do is bide my time, and he'll show up sooner or later...

"Why do you want to know?" I ask slowly.

"I have reason to believe it concerns one of the men highest up in the ranks of my web, although nowhere near as high as me." Moriarty says vaguely.

"So why ask us? Why not go to Mycroft himself."

"Mycroft has no friends, no weaknesses, nothing to use against him. You, however, have fallen into the trap of caring." Moriarty says with a grin. "Enough chatter. Tell me what Mycroft said, or John will really suffer."

I glance at John, he gives a small nod, looking me in the eyes with determination.

"No." I say firmly.

Without warning, Moriarty plunges the knife into John's side. It's not in a place where he'll be killed immediately, but if we don't hurry up, he could succumb to blood loss. John screams in pain, trying to pull away from Moriarty.

Moriarty turns back to me with a small smile. "Now, tell me what Mycroft said."

Flustered, I stare at John, then glance wildly around the room.


	24. Time's Ticking

**Sorry for the slightly late update and shorter chapter... I promise the next one will make up for it :)**

* * *

Chapter 24: Time's Ticking

There's nothing to help me. Mycroft may not even be monitoring that camera yet, or he may be in a meeting. There's no way I can get the gun now, or my phone.

Blood is already seeping through John's shirt and onto the carpet beneath him. I do quick calculations in my head. There will be no serious effects until about 20%-30% blood loss. At the apparent rate John is losing blood, it will be about half an hour before we're in trouble.

"John, you're the doctor, put pressure on the wound." I say quickly, not taking my eyes off Moriarty.

John carefully pulls his jacket off and presses it to his side.

I look at Moriarty. "We did speak to Mycroft the day before you took us."

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere."

"Don't Sherlock." John says. I look at him. His blue eyes are still bright and calm. This won't last long; the first affect of blood loss is becoming anxious.

"I have to." I say before turning back to Moriarty.

"Go on." He says with a smirk.

"Mycroft phoned us first, saying he had a case that he thought we would be interested in, but he couldn't describe it on the phone, for obvious reasons."

"Well, that would have been an easier way to get hold of this information." Moriarty says, rolling his eyes and glancing at John, whose forehead was now slightly creased.

"John, are you ok?" I ask.

"Yes, all things considered." Good, he's still calm. Hurry up, Mycroft.

"Carry on, Sherlock." Moriarty says impatiently.

"So, we went to Mycroft's office." I say slowly, trying to bide my time.

I describe the room in detail, dancing around the edge of information, just enough to stop Moriarty from inflicting more pain on John. John is starting to glance around nervously now, and his skin looks just a little paler than before. Time's running out.

"Sherlock, stop messing around and tell me what I want to know." Moriarty says, beginning to tap his foot impatiently.

Sensing that Moriarty is losing patience, I tell him more, confirming who it is that we discussed and dancing around what caused him to come to our attention, but not spilling too much valuable information.

John is breathing much faster now, and his frown has deepened on his forehead.

He can't wait much longer.

"Sherlock, I'm waiting..."

Just as I begin to despair, I hear sirens and racing footsteps.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade's familiar voice booms through the wall. John jumps, losing his grip on his jacket and not regaining it, the blood is now able to flow more freely.

"If you come in, John and Sherlock will be shot." Moriarty shouts back calmly.

"What have I done, why will I be shot?" John asks, confused.

"Nothing, John, it's alright." I say calmly. He must be nearing 30% blood loss if confusion is setting in. This isn't good.

"Sherlock, what's going on in there?" Lestrade asks, a hint of panic in his voice.

"Moriarty decided to join us, John's...bleeding." I shout back, trying to give Lestrade a sense of the severity of the situations without alarming John.

Another set of footsteps races up the stairs and there is mumbling on the other side of the wall. "Sherlock, are you ok?" It's Mycroft.

Damn it, I'll have to tell them about John to make them leap into action, even if it causes John to panic. "John's been stabbed. He's losing blood quickly, we need to get him to a hospital, fast." I say desperately.

There are more mumblings from behind the door, then there is a click of a lock and the door swings open. Moriarty swings round to point the gun at the intruder, but Mycroft is armed with one himself.


	25. He's Gone

Chapter 25: He's gone.

If the situation weren't so critical, I would burst out laughing at how ridiculous my brother looks, clearly not used to wielding such as deadly weapon, or wading in nearly this far. But now was no time for laughing.

Moriarty also appeares to be enjoying the scene, he cracks a small smile before returning to his menacing glare that I know only too well.

As Mycroft rounds the corner, he gets a glimpse of John. For a moment, I see the horror and terror in his eyes, but he hides it quickly.

"Moriarty, put the gun down, or I will fire." Mycroft says calmly but firmly.

Moriarty chuckles "I could say the same thing."

I look over to John. He's not really following the action anymore. He's slumped right against the wall and is breathing heavily. We need to get him out of here.

"Mycroft, just tell him what he wants to know so we can get John out of here." I say, sensing the desperation that I cannot quite hide in my voice.

"It's highly secret information that I simply cannot disclose." Mycroft says slowly.

"Ah, come on now, don't ruin the fun." Moriarty says, turning to Mycroft as he does so. He takes a step towards my brother, who takes a step back. Momentarily, Moriarty's attention is not on me.

I take my chance, lunging forwards and pulling Moriarty to the ground. He struggles in my grip, desperately trying to move his hand to a suitable shooting angle. I use all my weight to pin Moriarty to the ground. He squirms and kicks under my weight, wriggling and thrashing in an attempt to break free.

"Sher- " Mycroft tries to say, but he's too late, Moriarty has somehow freed his arm and is pointing the gun at my head. Its barrel is just centimetres from my forehead.

"If anyone moves, I'll pull the trigger, and Sherlock will die." Moriarty says calmly, his psychotic eyes fixed on mine.

I have no idea what to do. By my calculations, I am not able to knock the gun out of Moriarty's hand without him pulling the trigger. Mycroft is also in stunned silence.

Suddenly, the gun swings sideways and smashes to the ground, still in Moriarty's hand. He fires it and narrowly misses the bookshelf. Lestrade shouts something through the wall, but none of us hear it.

I look up to see John holding down Moriarty's hand, there is a trail of blood from where he was sitting, and blood is already forming a new puddle here. "Be quick, I can't hold on long." He says, his words slow and just a little slurred. Not good.

"Lestrade, it's safe." I say with urgency.

He emerges quickly and takes in the scene without comment before pressing handcuffs onto Moriarty's wrists. Moriarty doesn't try to resist, he knows it won't save him.

As soon as Moriarty has left the room, led away by Lestrade, John collapses to the floor, the last of his energy used up.

"John, can you hear me?" I say, dread filling me as images flash through my mind: John's eyes losing their glow as life slips away from him, John choking on his own blood, John being beaten and cut by Moriarty.

He looks up at me and blinks a few times, trying to focus his vision. "He's gone, we got rid of him." He says, his words slurring a little more than before.

"_You_ got rid of him." I say, thinking back to what John did, realising how much that lunge would have hurt. The pool of blood around him is growing fast. I'm not sure how much longer he can hold on for. He must be in pain, but he doesn't show it or complain. I am helpless, all we can do is wait for the ambulance.

Lestrade enters the room once more. "Oh my... John... Is he..?" He mumbles rushing to my side to look at John.

"Well done, John. You saved Sherlock. Moriarty's gone." He says quickly. John's eyes meet Lestrade's for a moment.

"He's gone." John repeats, his eyes lulling before they fix on mine again.

"Yes." I whisper, he smiles just a little.

John's eyes fall closed as the paramedics run into the room.

* * *

**Thank you to everyone who's read my story, I really appreciate it. Please tell me what you thought, even if it's only a fee words; I open to criticism too... I hope you enjoyed it :)**


End file.
